Even as he brought it to his lips, she was there beside him, a glass of white wine in her hand. A large glass, and not much left in it.

‘Evenin’ officer,’ she said, then tipped her head back and took a drink.

Her face was pale, almost grey, her eyes sunken and puffy. She was buoyant, a spikiness of anticipation in her movements, but it was forced, awkward. They stood there in the silence for a moment or two. She moved from foot to foot, looking around the pub, which wasn’t busy.

‘Well,’ she said in the end, ‘not often I get invited out via a text message at seven in the morning!’

He took a tiny sip of his beer. It was a couple of shades warmer than cool. The head was creamy, and it had that strangely minty aftertaste of Tetley’s.

‘I think we can call this a working dinner. I am working, you know.’

‘I’m fully aware of the situation, officer,’ she said, as if his seriousness was endearing. ‘Why don’t we grab a table, get down to work?’

They made their way into the dining area and chose a quiet spot in the corner. They went through the motions of getting seated.

‘Right,’ he said, as they squinted at the menu board on the wall.

‘Right.’

They waited.

‘Right,’ he said again. ‘I get the impression that you know what I’m going to say.’

‘Best just say it then, no?’

He glanced around. Several tables were occupied, but nobody close enough to hear.

‘Did you think the pencil was enough?’

‘Enough?’

‘To blame everything on those nutters in the Patriot League, or someone from the library?’

She looked puzzled, turning the wine glass in her hands.

‘I didn’t think that at all. It never occurred to me.’

‘What did you think?’

‘That it was the right thing to do.’

‘Right? The pencil?’

‘Everything.’

‘Care to explain?’

She drank the last of her wine, then set the glass on the table, frowning slightly.

‘I was coming down from the library. I sometimes walk into town, take the bus home. Don’t always drive. I noticed the car, saw him sitting there in the dark. He wound the window down, and I asked if anything was wrong. He told me to go fuck myself.’

‘OK…’

‘I knew what kind of person he was. It’s like I said yesterday. You can pick ’em out when they’re ten years old.’

‘And that’s why you did it? Because you could see what kind of person he was?’

‘Something changed. It only took a second. I didn’t know where I was. Still don’t, really. It was that quick. A pencil was the only thing I had.’

A young waiter came over. He might have been seventeen, mousy-blond hair in a fashionable mess, his face soft and gentle.

‘Are you…?’

‘Ready, yes,’ Joe said. ‘I think so. Shall we order?’