Stan followed him to the door and then came padding back into the loft when Jackson had left. I stared at the laptop but resisted the urge to open it, and I resisted the urge to look at his browsing history. There seemed to be no point. I felt like I already knew what it contained.

Instead I walked to the window and I stared down at the great meat market of Smithfield. It was in total darkness because London Central Markets, to give Smithfield its official name, is not open at the weekend or Bank Holidays.

So wherever my oldest friend was going, he certainly wasn’t going to work.

18

I looked across the table at Paul Warboys. He held my gaze but his expression was pleasant. I had never seen anyone so calm in an interview room. But then he had done this many times before.

‘OK, are we ready?’ I said. ‘Is everybody ready?’ I glanced at Edie Wren, sitting by my side, and Warboys and his lawyer on the other side of the small table. ‘When I press this button, we will start recording . . .’

Warboys smiled gently at the beep, his deeply tanned face as creased as old leather. He crossed his arms and his heavy gold jewellery clinked in the box-like room. His lawyer hovered at his side, staring at me over his reading glasses, ready to pounce.

‘All right,’ I said, ‘this interview is being recorded and may be given in evidence if any case is brought to trial. My name is DC Max Wolfe and I am currently serving with Homicide and Serious Crime Command here at West End Central, 27 Savile Row, London. The other officer present is DC Edie Wren. The time is – look at that – exactly noon.’ I nodded at the elderly gangster on the other side of the table. ‘Please state your name and profession.’

‘Paul Warboys. Businessman. Retired.’

‘Further to our previous interview at your home, Mr Warboys, I’d like to ask – what were your movements on the day that Hector Welles was abducted and murdered?’

The lawyer leaned forward. ‘I’d like to remind you that my client is not under arrest.’

Warboys held up a hand. His lawyer sat back in his chair.

‘I was at home. All day. All night.’

Most people become impatient or irritated when they are asked the same questions more than once. But not Paul Warboys.

‘How did you learn about Welles’ death?’

‘I told you before and now I’ll tell you again.’ It was said with a wry smile. ‘And I’ll keep on telling you the same thing as many times as you like. The phone started ringing. And then it didn’t stop.’

‘Who called you?’