‘And what’s wrong with that? I mean, we’re grown-ups. We know this sort of thing happens. But I thought that a man like Joe Kennedy, who spends his life wondering what the media will think, would be horrified at the prospect of families coming forward to complain about how they were treated by the guards. If we acknowledge their grievances now and are seen to be doing something, initiating some sort of internal inquiry – then at least we’re ahead of the curve. That’s how I thought he’d react. Cynical, but appropriate.’

Sean shook his head dismissively.

‘You give him far too much credit – considering what you know, not to mention what you don’t.’

‘Say again?’

‘Well, let’s start with what you’ve established about Joe Kennedy’s character to date. You’re dead right about his press-savviness. But, of course, you’re several logical steps ahead of him. Kennedy will handle the press effectively if the families come forward with horror stories about the guards. But in his mind, his job is to stop this ever becoming a news item, even if it means protecting guards who did wrong. You want him to pre-empt and prepare for the worst – which is why you would have made a better chief.’

Tom bristled, but knew he had no grounds to rebut his mentor.

‘Kennedy doesn’t think like you. His fear is that any action on his part could actually throw a spotlight on the issue. More importantly, there’s his own background to consider. This is where you’ve made the fatal error. You were so happy, Tom, to see somebody, anybody but you, taking the job of chief superintendent that you didn’t do your homework on who was getting it. If you had, you wouldn’t have dreamt of going to him with these particular concerns.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Tom asked.

‘Joe Kennedy’s father, man. Christ, I’ve sweat patches under my arms. Here, let’s take these drinks out the back. Would it kill you, Derek, to run a bit of cool air through this place?’

‘Keeps your girly wine at a nice temperature, doesn’t it?’ The bartender had moved on to the crossword and didn’t even look up as Sean reached over the counter and retrieved the bottle. He topped up his glass and offered Tom the same.

‘Two words, six and seven letters, begin with R and B. Robin Hood’s evil brother,’ Derek called up from the page. ‘Ah, I’ve got it. Robbin’ Bastard.’

Sean strolled nonchalantly out through the back door of the pub, Tom in tow.

‘I’m surprised you’re not barred,’ the inspector said, as they seated themselves at a table in the yard.

Sean peered at him quizzically.

‘What in God’s name are you talking about? I have a share in this pub.’

Tom’s eyes widened. This afternoon was full of surprises.