‘The thing is, Gary, there has been a significant development. Brendan was found dead behind a warehouse in Peckham early this morning. It would appear that he was stabbed to death sometime within this last week. It could well be that you were the last person to see him alive. It also strikes me that either you or this Wilmott and Cowley had a premonition about this happening or, alternatively, you are all somehow involved. What do you say to that?’

I got an accelerated sweat on and began rubbing my hands on my thighs. Constable Dhawan noticed this and looked at me with a note of disdain on her face. I looked down at my thigh and saw that the gloop from Lassoo that I had rubbed on there earlier had now dried and left a controversial stain. ‘It’s just dog saliva,’ I said, and then immediately regretted it as her expression turned to disgust.

‘Of course I’m not involved. You need to speak to John McCoy, Brendan’s boss at Cityside Investigations. He reckons that this Cowley and Wilmott are two people that have fallen out with Brendan, maybe over a debt or a job that had gone wrong.’

‘We’ve tried speaking to him this morning but he’s not co-operating, says it’s bad for business. Look, I’m going to pass this information on to the detectives handling the case and I’m sure they will be in touch with you. In the meantime, if this Cowley or Wilmott contact you, please inform me immediately. We really need to talk to them.’

Bailey handed me his card.

‘Don’t worry, Gary, I’m sure this will all go away if you co-operate,’ he said as he left. He seemed to be on my side. PC Dhawan took a final glance at my trousers and shook her head in disbelief.

I was back to where I was a week ago, sad at the loss of Brendan and worried about my involvement in it all. I convinced myself that an alibi for the evening I last saw Brendan might still be important and gave Emily a ring. It went straight to voicemail so I left her a message asking her to ring me as soon as she was free.

About an hour later my phone rang and I saw that it was Emily’s number. As I answered, there was a knock on my door.

‘Hi, Emily, thanks for ringing,’ I said as I walked to my front door.

‘Hello, Gary,’ came the reply. ‘This is John McCoy. Do you mind if we have a word?’

I opened my front door and there he was with Emily’s phone to his ear. He was with the bald man who smelt of processed meat, and they pushed past me and into the flat. McCoy sat down on the sofa and the other bloke made a quick inspection of each room in the flat.