‘I’ll ask you again. Did you steal the Range Rover in the picture?’

‘No comment.’

‘Kevin, why are you driving a Range Rover that doesn’t belong to you?’

‘No comment.’

The room starts to close in again, but Archer concentrates on Furlong. The young man’s eyes widen and he leans forward and snorts, ‘Here, Detective Sarge Quinn, or whatever your name is, did you know she’s got one eye a different colour to the other?’

‘Hey!’ shouts Quinn, slapping his hand on the table top suddenly.

Furlong jumps and glares at Quinn.

‘That’s it. Eyes on me, sunshine, when I’m talking to you.’ Quinn’s voice is deep and forceful.

To her relief, Quinn’s outburst shakes Archer from her fugue. She opens the manila folder and takes out a photo of Faulkner. ‘Kevin, do you recognise this man?’

Furlong doesn’t look at the image. ‘No comment.’

‘Kevin, please look at the picture.’

Furlong looks to Smith. The solicitor nods and Furlong rolls his eyes and then glances at the photo. Archer notices him shift in his chair.

‘No comment.’

Archer takes out the pictures of Billy Perrin, Noel Tipping and Stan Buxton and lays them across the table top like a player’s hand in three card poker.

‘Kevin, do you recognise any of these men?’

He scans the photos. ‘No comment.’

‘They were all murdered, Kevin. Did you play any part in their murder?’

Furlong’s face drops and he looks to Smith.

‘I thought this was about the theft of a car?’ asks Smith.

‘Kevin, did you play a part in their murder?’

‘No!’

‘The Range Rover belongs to this man. Do you recognise him?’

‘No comment.’

Archer looks to Quinn. ‘I think we’re done here.’

‘Can I go now?’ asks Furlong.

‘Nope,’ replies Quinn.

Archer leaves the interview room and waits outsides as Quinn goes through the formalities of ending the interview.

The duty sergeant approaches Archer. ‘Ma’am, John Tighe’s brief has still not arrived.’

‘Did he say when he would be here?’

‘Possibly in the morning.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant.’

Quinn appears. ‘I’ll make an application for an extended stay and we can crack him before we have to release him.’

‘Tighe’s brief won’t be here until the morning.’

‘That’s a ball ache.’

‘We don’t have time to wait until the morning.’

‘My thoughts exactly.’

Archer is relieved to find John Tighe’s interview room is slightly larger and less oppressive. Tighe sits at the table with a female uniformed officer standing behind him.

‘Thanks, Jane,’ says Quinn, holding the door for the officer.

Archer sits at the table. Tighe must be five years younger than Furlong and is dressed in a similar black and grey tracksuit and wears his hair combed forward in the same style.

‘Hello, John, how are you?’ asks Archer.

Tighe shrugs, his eyes dart warily from Archer to Quinn and back again.