Lucy walked to the other door, and peered down the outside passage. It turned out of sight about twenty yards along. As Shankhill said, she could imagine it emerging in some disused yard, another hidden space amid this labyrinth of eroded buildings. He might be frustrated that his security was foiled, but the loan shark had chosen his premises well. If the police had ever raided this place, they would have surrounded it first, but there was no guarantee they’d have found that back exit.

When she turned around, he was still breathing heavily and sweating intensely.

‘Meds letting you down?’ she asked, hardly daring to think what kind of drunken sawbones had tried to put him back together. ‘Aspirin maybe? Under a real doctor, you’d probably still be on a surgical ward.’

‘Yeah … having to listen to bullshit from dumb pigs like you.’ Even in his pain, Shankhill was a vile specimen. ‘If only your pathetic lot knew how far behind the eight ball you are.’

‘So where does that leave you?’ she wondered. ‘I mean, I’m getting paid to be here, and in a couple of hours I’ll be back home with my feet up. You, on the other hand … you’ve got two shattered legs and a ruined business.’

‘And that gives you an edge, does it?’ He chuckled again; that grunting, hog-like snort. ‘Fine … except if you’ve come to arrest me, tough shit. You’ll be lucky to find any evidence of my wrongdoings. There’s that, of course.’ He nodded towards the shotgun. ‘But you nick me for having an unlicensed firearm and it’ll be the least of my problems.’

‘I’m less interested in you, Roy, than in what happened to you.’

He took his glasses off, rubbing their lenses with his wool-clad thumbs. ‘Like you said, I got shot. During the course of a fucking robbery, would you believe. Here, in my own fucking office. Stamped on my face too … like you can’t fucking tell.’

‘How much did they take?’

‘I don’t know … sixty to seventy grand.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Don’t bother. I’m not reporting it. Bastards took my jewellery too, even my sodding Rolex!

‘Your Rolex?’ Lucy struggled to conceal the impact this made on her. ‘Do you have the serial number to hand?’

‘I told you I’m not reporting it.’

‘That must’ve cost you a fortune.’

‘I’m not reporting it!’

‘Are you actually serious?’

‘Jesus!’ he shouted. ‘You know what I am, you know what I do. This never happened, all right?’

‘What about your injured friend? How badly hurt is he … I mean, will he live?’

‘I don’t have an injured friend.’ Shankhill stressed the word ‘friend’, as if whoever it was who’d failed to prevent the blaggers’ intrusion had put himself beyond any such favour.

‘Where is he?’

‘Somewhere he won’t want you to find him.’

‘You’d better hope he survives.’