The silent DI Cowley then sat down beside me. He had very full thighs that stretched the seams of his shiny grey slacks. I could feel the heat of them against my own leg. The move felt both overly intimate and slightly threatening. I decided he was on the weasel-y side of the forest spectrum. He had agricultural ginger/blond hair cut to about an inch all over. One of his ears was significantly jugged and his bottom teeth were strewn around his gum, each and every one of them fighting for the attention of the curious onlooker. I think he had recently had a moustache, because his upper lip was white, in stark contrast to the rest of his pink face. ‘Smarmy’ would be the correct pocket to put him in, and he spoke with a slightly high-pitched inflection. I was desperate for him to retract his hot thigh from mine, but I didn’t dare ask.

‘Look, Gary – you don’t mind if I call you Gary, do you? – in this sort of investigation, the most important thing is to establish a timeline. Do you know what that means, Gary?’

‘Yeah, I think so. Could I ask, when you say “investigation”, has something awful happened? Was he run over or something?’

‘Listen, just try to focus on that all-important timeline for the moment. Take us through your evening in as much detail as you can. You say you went to the pub straight from work. What’s your job, Gary? What is it that you do?’

‘I’m a legal assistant at Tarrants solicitors in the Old Bank Chambers on Peckham High Street.’

‘I know that firm well – very reliable and established. That must be very interesting work. Is that where you came into contact with Brendan Jones?’

‘Yeah, he works for a firm of private investigators, and we use him to track down witnesses, serve injunctions and witness summons – that sort of thing.’

‘And were you in the habit of socializing with Mr Jones?’

‘No, to be honest, last night was the first time I’d ever met up for a social drink with him. He’d been asking to meet up for ages and I’d run out of excuses. I can’t believe he’s gone – can’t get my head around it…’

‘Yes, it’s very sad, Gary, when you lose an acquaintance. What time did you leave work?’

‘Seven o’clock on the dot. I walked to the Grove Tavern on Camberwell Grove and got there at 7:15 I reckon. Brendan was already there, sat at the bar.’

‘So what happened then, Gary? How did events unfold?’

‘Well, we had a chat. I think we got on to our second pints of beer. About 7:40 I went to the toilet and when I returned he explained that he’d received a phone call from a client and had to leave urgently to meet him.’