From what West could make out from the grainy images, Tyler looked as if he’d been absolutely bladdered. And that tallied with what Frank had said in the autopsy report about the amount of alcohol still in his bloodstream. It didn’t seem to get them very much further, but it was at least a record of the last time he’d been seen alive. Then a few minutes later someone else walked into shot. He seemed to be saying something, though West couldn’t make out what. He headed towards Tyler and for a good couple of seconds glanced upwards, almost straight at the camera. Tyler tried to stagger to his feet, then the second man dragged him fully upright and appeared to be helping him out of the alleyway. After that he’d found nothing in the way of useful footage. But those few seconds where Tyler’s rescuer had looked up at the camera were enough for West to get a pretty clear image of him on the freeze-frame.

When he showed it to Tyler’s neighbours they claimed not to recognise the bloke. So West had started on a trawl of the pubs and bars on the Market Place side of Snuff Street. Thus far he’d had no luck. Though he did at least now know they served a decent pie in The Vaults. He wasn’t altogether surprised at his lack of progress. Some of the places he’d been in so far were a bit of a long shot – all a bit upmarket for Tyler’s sort.

As he stepped inside he was relieved to see that The Lamb looked like a different kettle of fish. It was a proper pub.

There were a couple of blokes sitting at a table by the fireplace. But other than that there were no more customers to take the barman’s attention. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Better make it an orange juice. And a bag of cheese and onion while you’re at it.’

‘You sure, mate? You look like you could do with a pint.’

West showed him his warrant card.

‘Ah, right you are then.’ He handed West his drink.

West took a slurp before answering, ‘Business, unfortunately.’

The barman, a stocky, straightforward-looking man in his late fifties with a crew cut, leant towards him and asked in a whisper, ‘Is this to do with what happened to Jack?’

Bingo. West’s face brightened, but he suppressed the urge to smile. He didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression. ‘You knew Jack Tyler, then.’

He nodded. ‘He used to be a regular down here.’

West echoed his words, ‘Used to be?’

The barman said, ‘Jack ran up against a bit of bad luck. He didn’t like talking about it, but I think he lost his job a while back. We haven’t seen so much of him in here since.’