‘I’m a big girl, Jerry. I don’t need invites to visit public houses.’ She turned towards the bar, where a brassy-looking woman with white-blonde hair, big earrings and an even bigger cleavage, was mopping the counter. ‘Half a Diet Coke please, ta.’ The barmaid nodded and moved away. ‘Sure you don’t want anything, Jerry?’

He nailed her with one of his more theatrical gazes. ‘This is a breach of every protocol we ever agreed.’

Lucy looked around, seeing only those few desultory drinkers. ‘There’s no one else here.’

‘Good Lord in Heaven.’ He raised his newspaper and sank down behind it. ‘Just because we can’t see them, that doesn’t mean they can’t see us.’

Lucy came back with her cola, and drew up a stool.

‘You ought to have realised the previous way we did things was too good to last,’ she said.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ he hissed. ‘What have I done to deserve this?’

‘Nothing. You always deliver. You’re a good snout.’

At which his eyes widened – though not the left one, she noticed, which was discoloured around the socket. ‘In heaven’s name, woman … no one is supposed to know that!’

‘Chill out.’ She sipped her drink. ‘They’ll just think I’m some lass who fancies you.’

‘Well, yes, obviously … because that happens all the time.’

‘Tell them I’m your daughter.’

‘Miss Clayburn, this is not …’ He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. ‘This is not a fucking game!’

It was the first time she’d ever heard profanity from him, so he clearly was upset.

‘No, you’re right, Jerry.’ She too lowered her voice. ‘It really isn’t. That’s why I haven’t got time to sit around the nick, waiting on another cryptic email. Not anymore.’

This was too much for the normally affable informant, who stood bolt upright and walked from the pub, struggling to conceal a limp as he did.

Lucy finished her drink. She wasn’t being especially kind, doing this to him; that was plain. But it was too easy to let McGlaglen’s flowery words and gentlemanly manner create the impression that he was a better kind of person than all the other CIs she’d used. If he was actually different from those other rascals, he wouldn’t even be in this line of work. Snouts and grasses were among the least savoury characters the police dealt with. They only ever passed information when they stood to gain. It worked in the police’s favour, enabling them to snag or at least become aware of criminals whose activities they might not otherwise have known about, but by its nature – bearing in mind that these were often people the grass knew personally – it indicated just how ruthless such individuals could be. Jerry McGlaglen might pass for a harmless old eccentric, but it would be a mistake to fall for that.