I park up in the loading bay a few yards from the entrance to Cityside Investigations. I give my name to Sophie via the intercom and am buzzed straight inside. I’m greeted by McCoy at the top of the stairs and follow him through to his office. Emily is nowhere to be seen. DI Peterson is already seated in the office at the end of McCoy’s desk, examining McCoy’s gun as he speaks.

‘Hello again, Gary, I’m glad you’ve come. We need to move things on a bit more quickly. I’m sure you’re as tired of all this as we are and hopefully it’s dawned on you that you have more to lose than we do. Have a seat,’ says Peterson, clearly enjoying the moment.

I sit down and notice that a sweat hasn’t arrived. I’m feeling strangely numb. I think it’s the idea of Emily’s betrayal that has made me feel this way. I ever so slightly don’t give a fuck.

‘Gary,’ says McCoy as he sits down and fixes the stare of his watery eyes directly on me. ‘Can we stop fucking about with each other? Where is the dongle? Tell me now or things might start to get drastic.’

‘Where’s Emily?’ I ask, my voice lacking any emotion even before the words leave my mouth.

‘She’s with Tommy, or at least she was last thing I heard. That’s of no importance to me, though. Just tell me where the dongle is.’

‘Was it Emily who told you I had hidden the dongle?’

McCoy glances over to Peterson and it’s Peterson that answers:

‘No comment.’

‘Is she working for you still?’ I enquire.

‘No comment,’ says McCoy. ‘Except perhaps to say that she has been very useful to our cause so maybe you should think more about handing over the dongle and less about that little floozy.’

I’m crestfallen, and it must show on my face. McCoy’s expression changes to one of pity and then pleasure at my anguish. There must have still been a tiny sliver inside me that believed Emily was genuine. I thought I could make her like me, but she had played the better game.

‘I’m happy to hand it over, but there is something I want in return,’ I blurt, as if to suggest I still have some room for negotiation.

‘And what might that be?’ asks McCoy with a degree of impatience and scorn.

‘Wayne Moore’s dad. I want the charges against him dropped, and I’m trying to think of some demand I could make that would mean you never bother him again, but to be honest, knowing the way you operate, I’m struggling.’