‘Can I help you?’ A man appeared. He was in his late forties, his eyes squinting like this was his first glimpse of the daylight. The voice coming from behind his beard was heavy with sleep. Joel recognised Hennershaw from his police mugshot. The man’s eyes darted beyond the two detectives to the search team behind them.

‘We need to come in, Mr Hennershaw.’

‘Can I ask why?’

‘This is your friendly check on your bail conditions.’

‘All of you?’ His voice was raised just enough to express his surprise.

‘All of us.’

‘I signed at the police station, just like I’m supposed to. Just yesterday.’

‘Good for you,’ Joel said.

‘DC Smalling … she comes round regularly. Where is she?’ Hennershaw looked to be searching each of the officers standing on the drive for a friendly face. All he got was crossed arms and impatience.

‘I have no idea,’ Joel said and stepped forward. Hennershaw, wearing a tight white vest and boxer shorts, had the door trapped in his armpit. He seemed to get the hint and let go of the door to step back, his odd socks sliding on the wooden floor. Joel pushed through to the living room, where he swept a mess of DVD cases, television remotes and crumb-covered plates from the sofa to make a space. ‘Sit,’ he ordered and Hennershaw did as he was told.

‘Is this really necessary? You’ll disturb mother. She’s eighty-two, this is why I ask that you call ahead.’

‘Where’s the console?’ Joel demanded, his eyes scouring the television stand.

‘I dunno what you’re talking about!’ the man stuttered, his indignation now gone.

‘That controller just for show, is it?’ Joel pointed at the Playstation controller lying on the sofa; the pillow that had been covering it was still in his other hand. ‘Those officers out on the drive are a specialist search team, here to search for any evidence that you’re breaching your bail. Seems they won’t have to look too hard. You can help me out or I can have them tear this place apart. Where’s the console?’

‘I don’t know … That’s not mine!’

‘Let me guess, your eighty-two-year-old mother’s a big fan of Grand Theft Auto, is she?’

‘No … Come on! This is so unfair!’ The man rocked forward, his look now pleading. ‘DC Smalling just comes in for a chat. She has a look round but there’s a trust there. Ask her!’

‘DC Smalling isn’t here, I am. Where is it?’ Joel growled.

The man slumped. His face suddenly creased, a sob escaping from somewhere in its centre. He dropped his hands to his sides like a child throwing a tantrum. ‘Behind the television, all right! But I just use it for games. You can check it!’