‘I’ll check it out.’

They chatted sotto voce about local right-wing groups, until Joe couldn’t resist it any longer.

‘Come on, then. Tell me about his cock.’

She froze, eyes ablaze, looking right at him. Then, with no warning, she exploded into deafening laughter, falling forwards, hands on her knees, snorting until she sounded ready to choke.

By the time she’d got her breath back the entire room had turned to look. The two of them sat there, like naughty schoolchildren, not quite knowing what to do.

The meeting didn’t last long after that. The issue of taxi drivers was discussed some more. There were a few calls for action, a spontaneously hatched plan for a patriotic crusade against the local private-cab sector. But these were voiced half-heartedly, and with glances back to the two giggling police officers at the rear, whose presence was still a mystery.

Then people began to stand, ready to leave. Danny Cullen did his best to maintain some kind of authority, shaking people’s hands, the odd word of wisdom in someone’s ear, an arm around a shoulder. But as he did so, he too was unable to stop himself glancing towards the back of the room.

Finally, only three members of the English Patriotic League remained: the leader himself, and two large men, both as tall as Cullen, but wider. One was in his mid-twenties, the other perhaps touching forty. Both had shaved heads. They wore black trousers and plain white shirts, bouncer style, their shirts straining around their middles and emphasizing the overall bulk of their upper bodies, which managed to be simultaneously muscle-packed and obese.

‘Just a few questions, Mr Cullen,’ Joe said as he showed Cullen his warrant card. ‘I think we can do without the personal security.’

Cullen shook his head.

‘Not security, officer. Witnesses.’

‘All right Daz, Ranksy? Good to see you!’ Rita said in her best West Yorkshire accent, grinning at the two witnesses.

The two men gave her the tiniest flicker of acknowledgement, then returned to the serious business of witnessing.

‘Fair enough,’ Joe said, noticing that Rita was now standing back, looking amused. ‘Mr Cullen, you had a visit today from your daughter Lisa. Why was she here?’

Cullen took his time. Even now, deprived of his adoring crowd, he retained a certain charisma. Was it simply his size, his paternal manner, his stripy shirt and braces? Joe couldn’t quite work it out.

‘Inspector Romano…’

‘Detective Sergeant.’

‘Beg your pardon. Sergeant Romano. We know why she was here, don’t we? Her boyfriend was killed. Craig Shaw. He was a drug dealer.’

‘And?’

‘And you’ve no doubt heard about the League’s position on drugs. So now we’re under suspicion.’

‘Did you know him? You know his name.’

‘Never met him.’

‘You, gents?’ Joe asked.

Daz and Ranksy shook their heads.

Rita exhaled so volubly that all four men turned.