‘I told him you were right about Abby Jones lying, then repeated what she told us at her house – that the gunman wasn’t wearing a mask and had a cut to his head.’

‘How did he take that?’

‘I think I hit a nerve. He asked me if I thought Abby would be able to identify him. I said I was almost certain she could, but her father pressured her to lie and say she couldn’t.’

‘What did he say to that?’

‘Just that he’d speak to the pair of us later. I think he’s just testing your mettle to see if you’re up to the job. Murphy told me Jones attended the station wanting to make an official complaint, which suggests the duty officer persuaded him not to and we’ll be given words of advice.’

‘He might still make a formal complaint.’

‘So what? It’s not a sacking offence; worst we can get is a slap on the wrist and a pocket notebook caution for disobeying him, which means it’s the end of the matter.’

‘I’m not so sure he’ll do that with me—’

‘Nah, I backed you up. He can’t treat us any differently.’

‘Thanks for your support, it means a lot to me—’

He shrugged. ‘That’s what we do on the squad – we watch each other’s backs.’

Now that Jane could feel a mutual respect growing between her and Teflon, she wondered if she should tell him about her conversation with Betty, and how Kingston had dismissed her as an unreliable witness. Stranger still was the fact he’d never mentioned Betty’s evidence in any of the office meetings. She looked out of the passenger window, sighed to herself and decided not to say anything to him, worrying that all it might accomplish would be to damage the bond that was forming between them if she were to question Kingston’s integrity. Which meant she either had to keep her suspicions to herself or confront Kingston about it face to face.

*

Murphy sat at his desk writing a misdemeanour caution in their pocket notebooks, while Jane and Teflon stood to attention. Jane felt like she was back at school, standing in front of the headmistress and being told off for her bad behaviour in class. Teflon gave her a side-on glance and a ‘told you so’ smile. She tried not to smile back in case Murphy looked up.

‘Next time I won’t be so lenient.’ He handed back their pocket notebooks. ‘You’re lucky the Leytonstone duty officer persuaded Mr Jones not to make a full-blown complaint. I suggest you find out what he drinks and buy him a bottle . . . each!’

‘Yes, sir,’ they replied in unison.

‘Type up a detailed report of your conversation with Abby Jones and her father, then file it as NFA.’