‘But why would the thief talk to Hamilton?’

‘Perhaps Hamilton was being persistent and the thief didn’t want to raise suspicions. Who knows? Perhaps they wanted to screw with him in some way too?’

‘It doesn’t make sense.’ Archer is troubled but has other more important things to think about and pockets her phone.

Breakfast arrives. Everything is fried: the bacon, the sausages, the eggs, the tomatoes, the mushrooms, the bread. Even the beans have a disconcerting oily quality. Archer picks at her eggs and nibbles at the fried bread, which is tastier than it looks.

‘Breakfast of champions!’ says Quinn, who eats heartily.

‘Breakfast of cardiac arrest,’ replies Archer.

Quinn smiles. He is broad but also lean, yet she wonders just how he manages to not be twice his size if this is what he eats.

As if reading her mind, he says, ‘This is a rare treat.’

‘Glad to hear it. For a moment I thought I could hear your arteries furring up.’

‘I keep myself in shape. I come from a country where heart disease and suicide are ever present like evil Jehovah’s Witnesses constantly knocking at the door. Both have visited the Quinn family over the years. One will claim me. One day.’

Archer is unsure what to say to that and decides no response is the best option, for now.

Quinn demolishes his breakfast and scoops up the grease with the last of the fried bread. With a paper napkin he dabs his mouth gently as if he has just eaten a fine gourmet meal. ‘Ready to go?’

‘I need to make a quick stop at my grandad’s before heading back.’

‘No worries.’

Quinn waits outside in the car as Archer lets herself in. Grandad is pottering around the kitchen making breakfast and listening to Radio 4.

‘Morning, Grandad.’

‘Good morning, Grace. Have you been working an all-nighter?’

‘I have. How are you feeling?’

‘Your father was always doing them. Not good for your health,’ he replies not having heard or taken in her question. He smiles at her. ‘Would you like some tea?’

‘I’m afraid I have to go out again.’

‘OK, dear. I understand.’

Archer hurries upstairs and takes off her sweater. She washes her armpits, face, neck and brushes her teeth. From her wardrobe she finds a pale blue shirt. After brushing her hair, she hurries back downstairs.

‘Do you need anything, Grandad?’

He shakes his head. ‘No I don’t think so.’

‘Call me if you do, won’t you?’

‘Of course, dear.’

Archer pulls on her coat.

‘Say hello to your dad, if you see him today.’

Archer feels a lump in her throat. She wraps her arms around the old man. ‘I love you, Grandad.’

He chuckles under her embrace and pats her back. ‘I’m lucky to have you, Grace.’

Archer’s eyes begin to well. She is reluctant to leave him alone, but what else can she do?

*