Below this was a mugshot labelled ‘O1’. It was in full colour and showed a heavyset male with hair shorn close to his scalp and thin lips surrounded by stubble. He looked to be mid to late thirties. He was shirtless in the photo with most of his torso visible. It showed a large eagle tattoo, its wings pushing out to cover his chest, the top of its head running up the middle of his neck to finish just below his chin. In the photo his thin lips were pushed together in a leer, and his arm was angled down to suggest his hands were in his lap. The photo overall looked like it was taken from a webcam and then cropped: poor quality, but good enough. Danny stared at the smiling eyes in the photo. When he lifted away he found the same eyes in real life. This time there was no sign of a smile. This time his thin lips were forced apart by the barrel of a shotgun.

‘Marcus Olsen.’ His throat was now so dry it hurt. Danny watched the man closely as he uttered the name. There was a reaction, no doubt, as much as he could with his head held tightly in place. He jerked like he was trying to shake it, like this was all a big mistake.

But Danny didn’t think it was. Not for a moment.

He moved back to the folder, where the printed words continued. He read them out now, almost revelling in it.