‘Just look at the timing if you really need convincing,’ Richardson insisted. ‘My party is a fortnight away from its official launch, and has already attracted more financial backing than any other anti-establishment political organisation in recent history. And suddenly the police decide to respond to an “anonymous” tip about something that may or may not have happened twenty-two years ago? They’re literally going around digging up skeletons, for Christ’s sake.’

‘I can assure you, Mr Richardson,’ Fleet said, ‘it happened. Ben Draper was murdered. I’ve seen his skeleton myself.’

‘I’m not disputing the fact a boy was killed,’ Richardson countered. ‘What I’m telling you is that Ben Draper isn’t the only victim here.’

‘Maybe not,’ Fleet responded. ‘But for the time being at least, he is the only victim I care about. And Ben Draper wasn’t just a boy, Mr Richardson. He was your friend. And by your own admission twenty-two years ago, you were one of the last people to see him alive. So let’s talk about that. Shall we?’

The silence crackled. Play nice, Nicky had urged Fleet, and he was aware the interview hadn’t exactly got off to the most auspicious of starts. Richardson fixed Fleet with a look he usually reserved for people like Manish Apte when he was interviewing them on television; for politicians and public figures who’d crossed whatever moral line Richardson and his producers had decided to draw that day.

‘So,’ said Fleet, opening his notebook. ‘Tell me about Ben, Mr Richardson. How would you characterise your relationship with him?’

He looked at Richardson evenly. From his expression, Richardson seemed to be seriously considering refusing to answer. But at a nod and a hopeful look from Lawe, he recrossed his legs and drew back his shoulders.

‘There was no relationship, Detective Inspector. The truth is I barely knew Ben, and frankly I’m struggling even to remember what he looked like.’

It was a line Fleet had heard so frequently over the past few days, it was losing its power to surprise.

‘All I can recall about Ben is that he was, frankly, a loser,’ Richardson said. ‘Nobody liked him. I may have felt sorry for him, and we might have involved him once or twice in our games, but that doesn’t mean he and I were friends.’

Even though Fleet suspected Richardson was doing what any politician would in the circumstances, and attempting to distance himself from events, Fleet wasn’t entirely certain he was lying. In the original witness statements, there did seem to be a lack of consensus about just how close Richardson had been to Ben. Some interviewees professed to having seen them hanging around together; others insisted Ben had spent his entire time at Beaconsfield on his own.

‘By we,’ said Fleet, ‘I assume you are referring to Melissa Haynes and Lance Wheeler. You remember them, I presume, Mr Richardson?’