The prison officer’s car overtook a green Focus and advanced on an articulated lorry in the lane running parallel with the grassy incline. Priest could just make out the backs of the terrace houses filtering past before the hard shoulder ended and the road cut inwards so it was abutting the verge. In a heartbeat, the image changed as a flurry of brake lights preceded the road disappearing and the prison officer’s car spinning out of control.

‘I didn’t know you’d been promoted to the Traffic Unit, Tiff,’ Priest remarked.

‘Very amusing. But what interests me is this . . .’ Rowlinson fiddled with the horizontal white bar at the bottom of the screen until the prison officer’s car was backing up the road. Then he stopped and moved the image forward frame by frame.

‘See here?’ Rowlinson pointed to what was unmistakably two figures running up the side of the road against the oncoming traffic. Priest groaned inwardly – he had been closer to catching the phone thief than he’d thought.

The lead figure darted across the road in front of the lorry – he made the other side in just four frames before the picture distorted into chaos. Rowlinson froze the screen. The second runner was looking out past where the first runner had vanished. The image was grainy; Priest thanked his lucky stars that Rowlinson didn’t have a very compelling case for identification. He was just guessing, albeit correctly.

‘I think this is you, Priest.’ Rowlinson pointed at the figure standing on the side of the road.

‘I agree he’s a handsome chap, Tiff, but that could be anyone.’

Rowlinson withdrew the iPad and placed it back into his bag. ‘You know what, I’m not even going to ask you what the hell you were doing.’

‘Surely it’s the obvious copper’s question, even though it’s not definitively me,’ Priest averred, although he suspected Rowlinson didn’t find his cynicism the remotest bit funny.

‘You know why I’m not going to ask you, Priest? Because, if I did, you’d lie to me again and there’s only so much I can handle.’

‘Look, Tiff, we’re on the same side—’

‘Are we?’

Priest didn’t reply. He could see Rowlinson had already made up his mind, so he let the question hang in the air. In time, Rowlinson nodded, as if his silence had implied an answer, before picking up his bag and vacating his seat.

‘You need you to remember who your friends are, Priest,’ Rowlinson said on his way to the door. ‘There’s only so many times I can cover for you.’

*

Gail sat at Tomas’s kitchen table staring at her iPad, but not taking anything in. The kitchen was filthy, nobody was taking responsibility for cleaning it. Dirty pots and pans were piled high on the side, alongside a half-eaten salad and the remains of a Chinese takeaway from two nights ago.