I'M SITTING IN MY OFFICE, SHIVERING OVER A COOLING CUP of coffee and reading The Register, when my door opens without warning. I look up: it's Iris, which is no surprise, but the other visitor—"Jo?" I say, standing: "Long time no see!"

"Not long enough, under the circumstances," she says with a twitch. Jo is short for Josephine, as in Detective Inspector Josephine Sullivan, formerly of Milton Keynes but working for us in Operational Oversight these days. (That's my fault; on the other hand, so is her still being alive after the SCORPION STARE business, so I suppose they cancel out.) Looks a bit like Annie Lennox, if she'd taken up a second career as a nightclub bouncer. "How are you keeping?"

"Badly." I look round at the mounds of paper, the padlocked secure cabinet covered in Dilbert cartoons, the cubicle-farm-sized novelty dart-board with a picture of the Prime Minister's face over the bull's-eye: "Uh, I wasn't expecting you."

Iris gives Jo a sidelong look: "You've met?"

"Yes." Jo gives her one right back. "I won't let it influence me."

"You're here to take my statement?" I ask.

"Yes." For a moment Jo looks haggard. "Bob, what have you gotten yourself into?"

"I'll fetch another chair." Iris catches my eye and shakes her head pointedly as she backs through the door.

"A mess. How long have you been working for Oscar-Oscar?"

Jo sits down on the squeaky chair with no arms, and opens her attache case. "Two years now," she says quietly. "Please tell me before we begin, while we're not under oath, you didn't do this deliberately?"

I shake my head. "Cross my heart and hope to die, it was an honest fuck-up."

"Okay." She takes a deep breath. "I'm just here to fill out the forms with you and ask you the questions. If a decision is made to pursue an enquiry I will declare a conflict of interest and withdraw. Are you happy with that?"

For a moment I feel a flicker of gratitude amidst the gloom and dread. "Fair enough."

Iris returns, pushing another rickety office chair through the door. (I approve. Most of my previous managers would have sent a minion to do that for them; actually mucking in and getting stuff done was beneath the dignity of their station. I'm still taking notes on Iris's style, although right now my career doesn't exactly look to be on course for promotion.)

"Are you ready to begin?" Jo asks.

I nod.