Jax moved on to the second tub and found his bedding. Dark blue with white stripes, the sheets brittle from bleach. One of the two solid-blue pillowcases was heavily stained. Blood? The blanket was covered with lint balls, more sandpaper than soft.

Then came the toiletries: toothpaste, toothbrush, toilet paper, soap and a roll-on deodorant. He checked off a plate, a bowl, a cup and some cutlery – all plastic – in the bottom of the tub, along with a number of small sachets of detergent and washing powder.

Jax confirmed that all the items on the list were present. He was then ordered to dress. Underwear and socks first – the only whites – then the tracksuit pants. They were baggy and a little short in the leg, but he doubted the prison had a tailor.

Jax grabbed the first T-shirt from the pile he’d made on the countertop and slipped it on. He noticed that none of the four T-shirts were the same shade of green. All faded to differing degrees. All second-hand. He wondered who had worn the shirts before him. A serial killer? At least the underwear appeared new.

Jax completed the all-green ensemble with a pair of custom-made prison shoes – green of course. A pair of joggers made by Dunlop, vinyl not leather, with a ribbed rubber sole, the shoes were secured with Velcro straps instead of laces. So that was true.

Jax came to a sobering realisation: his entire life had been reduced to green garb, plastic cutlery and blue-and-white sheets. A numbness descended. Jax returned the remaining items back to the tubs, which the kid told him would be delivered to his cell.

Rogers strolled in and snatched up a file before nodding Jax towards a set of double sliding doors at the rear of the room. ‘Move to the yellow line,’ he barked once they had whooshed open.

Jax walked into a large open space that smelled of bleach and was completely bare, except for a few faded posters tacked to the wall. ‘You Are Under Video Surveillance’ and ‘Do You Have an Infectious Disease?’ they read.

A heavy security door on the eastern wall opened and a man who looked more like an accountant than a law-enforcement official stepped through it. He waited for Rogers to walk over and hand him the file, and then took a moment to study the first page.

‘Riley Jax,’ he said. ‘This is the last of it. Come through and take a seat.’