Walsh looked slightly amused as he took out a bottle of Johnnie Walker from his cabinet and held up a glass to them.

Yes. Please. Would love to.

Bish shook his head to the drink. Elliot’s phone rang and he walked out to take the call.

‘What’s this business about your suspension from the Met?’ Walsh asked when they were alone.

Bish was back at school and his head prefect was about to tell him off. ‘Lost my temper, sir,’ he said feigning humility.

Walsh laughed. ‘Fuck off.’ He sat down and took a sip of Scotch. ‘What was your nickname back then, Ortley? The Hulk? Mr Meek and Mild until someone set you off?’

‘Did I do that much? Don’t remember.’

‘Fourth form. Study hall with Thomas Simpson from Plymouth. It still gets mentioned once or twice at reunions. The ones you refuse to turn up to.’

Bish couldn’t think of anything worse than a high school reunion.

‘I was gutted when I heard about your son,’ the judge said quietly. ‘I lost a brother the same way.’

Bish remembered the Walsh family tragedy back when they were fourteen. It had happened in Spain on a family holiday.

‘Better see what Elliot’s getting up to,’ he said, standing and extending a hand just as a knock sounded on the door. Walsh’s clerk came in with an envelope.

‘Little cunt,’ Walsh muttered after reading the apology note, then handed it to Bish. It read: I’d rather rot in jail than apologise to those fuckers!

It wasn’t the words that surprised Bish, but the handwriting. He recognised it, knew it by heart, because it was from the one document that had provided information on the day of the bombing and beyond. Regardless of everything, Charlie Crombie had managed to do what the two surviving chaperones had failed to. He had also made sure that most of the kids spoke to their parents on his phone. Fionn Sykes had said it. Charlie Crombie took care of his minions.

‘I think I’m it,’ Bish said. ‘Charlie Crombie’s referee.’

They spoke about Charlie and the list a little while longer and when Bish went to leave again he couldn’t resist asking, ‘What did you think of the Brackenham Four case?’

Walsh was pensive. ‘I would have liked to see it presented in a courtroom with a jury.’

‘I think —’

‘Don’t,’ Walsh said. ‘I’m about to be tapped for the Federal Court, Ortley. I can’t afford a drama.’

In first form, when Elliot was getting thrashed by the prefects, Bish hadn’t had the guts to stick up for him. But he did write a note and put it in Anthony Walsh’s locker. Elliot was never touched again. Walsh’s idealism had always outweighed his ambition.

‘Just five more minutes?’ Bish said.

Reluctantly Walsh sat back down and Bish started talking, knowing full well that someone else would be waking at three am with Noor LeBrac in his head.

It felt good to be spreading the insomnia around.