I remember my first meeting with Emily at the Grove Tavern when I was the person under surveillance. She had made quite a fuss of returning my plate and cutlery to the bar. I also recall a detail from Brendan’s document stating that Tommy had taken a wine glass from the bloke involved in the honeypot sting. The penny drops and some verve returns to my outlook.

‘I want my knife back.’

‘What knife might that be, Gary?’

‘The one that Rowlett showed me at the police station, the one that Emily stole from me at the Grove Tavern. It’s a steak knife. Oh fuck, are you trying to link me up with Brendan’s murder? If you don’t give me that knife, then fuck you, I’m taking the dongle to the press, Scotland Yard – I don’t know, I’ll take it everywhere.’

‘Calm down, Gary, just sit tight. I’ll go and see how DI Peterson is getting on.’

McCoy gets up and leaves the room, locking the door behind him. I get up off my chair and pace the room, checking the cabinet for the knife. I even examine the window to see if it would be safe to jump out. I hear the door unlock and in come McCoy and Peterson. I pick the gun up from the desk and point it at them.

‘Give me the knife!’ I demand.

‘You going to shoot us, Gary?’ says McCoy.

‘No, I am fucking not, but I’m shitting myself and I’m out of my depth and give me the fucking knife!’

‘Put the gun down, Gary,’ says DI Peterson, sounding like a genuine and concerned copper. ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement regarding the knife.’

It’s a chink of light and so I lower the gun.

‘What arrangement? Tell me what I have to do. Come on! I’m just a shitty little bloke. Why are you doing this to me?’

‘You’re not so little, Gary,’ says McCoy. ‘I’m average height and you’re only a couple of inches shorter than me.’

Peterson places a piece of A4 paper on the table for me to read. I pick it up without letting go of the gun. It’s a copy of a report from the Metropolitan Police forensics lab stating that in the case of R v Moore the sample submitted for analysis had tested negative for controlled substances. I’ve seen many of these reports before and it seems legitimate. I grab hold of it and crush it into my jacket pocket.

‘Thank you,’ I say, ‘but right now I’m more concerned with making an arrangement about the knife. I promise you that if I don’t get it, then you will never get the dongle. Have you entered the knife into evidence yet?’