Jonathan leaned across the table and switched off the tape. He smiled at her. ‘Okay, shoot.’

Jazz began, cautiously at first, to tell him where she thought the problems lay. To her surprise, he responded knowledgeably, defending the system.

‘It’s not corruption that is its downfall, although I accept what you say about the abuse of power and personal ambition, but from what I’ve gleaned from others who I’ve interviewed, those that slip through the net are usually the result of a mixture of petty bureaucracy, inept lawyers for the prosecution – I mean, have you seen the new white paper the government has just issued, suggesting the CPS cuts barristers’ fees? – so, of course, the best lawyers are going to play for the defence, and human fallibility.’

‘Also, the system is clogged up with appeals,’ Jazz added. ‘Even when you get your suspect convicted, you never know when some smart-arse lawyer is going to appear with a trumped-up piece of evidence, sometimes material, but more often than not psychological.’

‘The school of “it’s not my fault I’m a murderer, my mother didn’t breastfeed me as a baby”, you mean?’ Jonathan grimaced.

‘Got it in one. Sorry, I may sound hard, but life is hard. No one has the perfect childhood or adolescence. We all have reasons why we might go out and murder someone in cold blood. Thank God most of us don’t. But those who do have to take responsibility for their actions whatever the circumstances? They have to be punished for what they did.’

‘Agreed. I understand you have personal experience, Jazz,’ Jonathan said quietly. ‘I know what happened to your father.’

Jazz loathed talking about it. The subject still conjured up vivid memories of the event. ‘Yes. He was a good man, a vicar, trying to help a disadvantaged community. What did he get for his trouble? A bullet in the back. The gunman got two years and was out in six months. On the grounds of diminished responsibility. And then offended again three weeks later.’

‘I’m sorry. I really don’t know what to say.’ Jonathan sighed. ‘Do you mind me asking what he was doing in Hackney at the time? Thought he’d been a don lecturing on Theology here before that.’

‘You’re right. I was brought up in Cambridge until I was twelve. That’s when Dad announced to his wife and daughter that he was fed up of teaching theology to a load of middle-class students. He wanted to go out there and practise what he preached. So he was ordained and we moved to Hackney. Going from my cosy grammar school here in Cambridge to an east London comprehensive was a culture shock. Toughened me up, though.’

‘I’ll bet. Christ, rather you than me.’

‘It was hard, yes, but I admired Dad so much for what he was doing. And I learned all sorts of tricks along the way, things that have since stood me in good stead in my current career.’

‘Such as?’