Marsden turned to his three companions. ‘Hear that, lads? The stupid cunt doesn’t realise that it’s gone way beyond the point where we need proof. He still thinks he can hide behind the law.’

‘Then let’s get on with it, Tony,’ one of them replied from beneath his balaclava. ‘Get the bastard to spill his guts and then we can have some fun.’

Marsden turned back to Slack. His face was contorted, hateful, and his brow started collecting moisture.

‘What we’re about to do will have the blessing of every police officer in the country,’ he said through gritted teeth.

Slack forced a sardonic grin. ‘Do you seriously believe they’ll want a moron like you taking on the role of judge, jury and executioner?’

Marsden slammed his open palm against Slack’s right cheek, then followed through with a hard punch to the gut.

Slack pitched forward with a loud shriek. The pain was such that it felt like his insides were suddenly on fire.

The detective then grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back.

As he spoke, a line of saliva stretched between his lips. ‘You seem to think that you’re still the big time gangster who everyone is afraid of. Well I’ve got news for you, Slack. You’re just a disease-ridden old crock who nobody gives a fuck about.’

Marsden then hawked and spat a dollop of phlegm into Slack’s face.

Slack’s spine grew rigid, and he took in a deep breath through his nostrils. He tried to gather strength from the voice in his head, which kept repeating the mantra: When you have nothing to lose, death no longer holds any fear.

But he wasn’t ready to die just yet. And when the time came he wanted it to be on his terms. These renegade cops were going to fuck up his plan, spoil the grand finale.

If he died here then Rosa Lopez would go home, her job unfinished, and his suicide letter would probably never be discovered. And even if he did confess now he was sure there’d be a cover-up and he wouldn’t be given the credit he deserved.

‘I want the answers to three questions,’ Marsden said. ‘Who is the woman carrying out the killings on your behalf, and where can we find her? And what have you done with the firearms officer who shot Terry Malone?’

Slack swallowed hard, his face hot with pain. He was breathing heavily now, panting, and his body was a mass of tightening knots.

There was no way out of this. He could see that they were going to kill him for two reasons. The first was because they knew what he’d done and they hated him for it. And the second was because they couldn’t afford to let him go. They had crossed a line themselves and if it got out they’d end up in prison.