Georgio shook his head slowly, wiping his face with a large brown hand. ‘Listen, Mr Laughton, with respect, a pig in shit has more sophistication than you!’

The young DC smiled, and hastily turned away from his boss.

Laughton stared down at the handsome man sitting before him, a wave of malice and temper washing through him. ‘I’ll have you, Brunos, you know that, don’t you? I’ll see me day with you, boyo, see if I don’t.’

Georgio shook his head sadly. ‘Why are you so determined to pin this on me, Laughton? Did I sell you a right steamer for the wife or something? Did I annoy you in another life and now you’ve been reborn to fucking haunt me in this one - is that it?’

Laughton took a rasping drag on his cigarette and smiled grimly. ‘I hear the whispers, Brunos, I hear everything. I know you’re not as white as you’d like everyone to believe. I know you was behind that blag, everyone knows . . .’

Georgio laughed out loud. ‘Everyone knows, do they? Well, I wish they’d let me in on it, mate, because I don’t even know what you’re talking about.’

Laughton stubbed out his cigarette on a saucer and promptly lit another. ‘Wilding, send in DC Masterson, please. And go and get yourself a cup of tea or something. I don’t want to see you for about forty minutes, OK?’

The younger man hesitated for a split second before Laughton bellowed: ‘You heard me, boy. Move it! Do you want it tattooed on your arse then?’

DC Wilding looked into Georgio’s eyes briefly and left the room. The silence was tangible, heavy on the air like electricity before a summer storm.

Five minutes later, one of the biggest men Georgio had ever laid eyes on walked into the room.

‘You wanted me, Mr Laughton?’ The man’s face was open, kind.

‘Sit over there, son. I’ll tell you what to do when the time comes.’

Georgio Brunos, a small tremor of fear inside him now, smiled at the man as nonchalantly as possible, then turning to Laughton he said quietly: ‘You wouldn’t dare, Laughton.’

The DI laughed loudly. ‘Oh, I’d dare, Georgio. You ask Peter Wilson. Bless his little cotton socks, even as we speak he’s nursing his wounds. Never the bravest of blokes Peter, but very eager to please. Does what he’s told, does young Peter. You could learn from him, Brunos. Tell the truth and shame the devil.’

Georgio stood up abruptly. ‘I want me brief, Laughton, and I want a break.’

Laughton’s voice was low and cold now. ‘Sit down, Brunos.’

Georgio stood firmly, facing the older man.

‘Sit down, you Greek ponce, before I put you through the fucking wall!’

Georgio stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated.