‘I’ve no comment to make on that, Mr Holly. Look, whatever you think you may know, you’ve got to understand that stories – true or false – can do irreparable damage to an investigation, especially one at a crucial stage.’

‘Is the Balfour inquiry at a crucial stage? I hadn’t heard …’

‘All I’m trying to say is …’

‘Look, Grant, admit it: you’re fucked on this one, pardon my French. Best thing you can do is fill me in on the small print.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Sure about that? Tasty new posting you’ve got there … I’d hate to see you go down in flames.’

‘Something tells me you’d like nothing better, Holly.’

The telephone receiver laughed into Grant’s ear. ‘Steve to Mr Holly to Holly … you’ll be calling me names next, Grant.’

‘Who told you?’

‘Something this big, you can never keep it watertight.’

‘So who punched the hole through the hull?’

‘A whisper here, a whisper there … you know how it is.’ Holly paused. ‘Oh no, that’s right – you don’t know how it is. I keep forgetting, you’ve only been in the job five fucking minutes, and already you think you can lord it over the likes of me.’

‘I don’t know what—’

‘Those little individual briefings, just you and your favoured poodles. Stuff all that, Grant. It’s the likes of me you should be looking out for. And you can take that any way you like.’

‘Thanks, I will. How soon are you going to press?’

‘Going to try slapping us with a two-eye?’ When Grant didn’t say anything. Holly laughed again. ‘You don’t even know the lingo!’ he crowed. But Grant was a fast learner.

‘It’s an interim interdict,’ he guessed, knowing he was right. Two i’s: a court injunction, halting publication. ‘Look,’ he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘on the record, we don’t know that any of the stuff you’ve mentioned is pertinent to the current case.’

‘It’s still news.’

‘And possibly prejudicial.’

‘So sue me.’

‘People play dirty like this, I never forget it.’

‘Get in the fucking queue.’

Grant was about to put down the phone, but Holly beat him to it. He got up and kicked the desk, then kicked it again, followed by the waste-bin, his briefcase (bought at the weekend), and the corner where two walls met. He rested his head against the wall.

I have to go to Carswell with this. I have to tell Gill Templer!!