‘This,’ she said, holding up her glass with one hand and wiping her mouth with the back of the other, ‘is the other half. Fourteen stone of Batley-Bengali, that’s me. Pure multiculturalism.’

He sat back and tried to savour his own beer. But it was still freezing. The proprietors of the Bull’s Head had clearly not read their Orwell.

‘Craig Shaw,’ he said. ‘Looks like Cleckheaton was his regular Tuesday stop-off. That’s when he disappeared. Vehicle tracking has him here that evening. Then nothing.’

‘Like I said, I’ve read the file.’

Joe began to wonder whether the line between matter-of-fact and tetchiness was different for DS Scannon than for most people.

‘Not quite nothing,’ she added. ‘His number plate was clocked on the bypass up near the M62. Nine-thirty on Tuesday night if memory serves. That’s about the time his stop-offs in Cleckheaton normally finish, isn’t it?’

Joe nodded, persevering with his pint, as if it was at this point his best and indeed only friend.

‘We know Craig,’ she added. ‘Knew, I mean.’

There was a hint of mischief in her voice as she reminded herself of the past tense.

‘Selling cannabis, apparently.’

‘He’s been inside for selling coke. That’s what his record says.’

‘His girlfriend told me he was focusing on softer stuff. Her idea. Kind of a business model, in the hope that sooner or later it would be decriminalized and he could go legit.’

She listened, her pint held up to her mouth, then sank most of what was left.

‘Interesting. Must have got himself a niche. I used to see him parked up in his Beemer, just round the corner, by Tesco’s. Y’know?’

‘Nope.’

‘The road under the old railway bridge. It was always like, shall I even bother? He’s been stopped a few times. Only ever had a bit of blow on him. Must have been shifting a fair bit, though. Nice motor.’

‘He was driving an old Toyota when he died.’

‘He was in a Beemer whenever I saw him. Flash but not too flash. Good choice.’

‘Last few weeks he’d been borrowing his mum’s car.’

‘Yeah, I saw the tracking. Old Corolla? Bit weird.’ She stopped, looked him right in the eyes, her hands flat on the table in front of her, and inhaled dramatically. ‘Joe, I think that might be a clue. What d’ya say, partner?’

‘Apparently he was using his mum’s car to avoid being seen by rivals.’

‘What rivals?’

‘Someone was warning him off. Threatening his mum as well. Phone calls, dog shit in the post, the lot. That’s why she reported him missing so soon. She was scared stiff. With good reason, as it turns out. Also,’ he said, picking up his phone, ‘I’ve got a picture of his girlfriend. She’s involved, one way or another.’