‘Sounded like a squirrel to me,’ I announced.

‘No, definitely a pigeon. I’ve got one in my attic. Drives you mad,’ he replied without taking his eyes off the screen.

A young, suited officer emerged from the large security door that separated the public waiting room from the rest of the station. He beckoned me to follow him and introduced himself as Detective Constable Bailey. He was the investigating officer in Wayne’s case. He took me to a little interview room halfway down a long corridor of interview rooms and we sat opposite each other. He had Wayne’s case file in his hand. Reading from the file, he explained that Wayne and his father had been stopped while driving the father’s car in Lewisham. They had agreed to a search of the vehicle and the officers found a small packet of what was believed to be cocaine underneath the front passenger seat. They were immediately arrested for possession and intent to supply. Neither of them made any comment on arrest other than a straightforward denial that they had any knowledge that the drugs were in the car. He confirmed that the car they were driving was registered to the father. Wayne had asked for a solicitor and I was welcome to see him now. If I waited in the room, they would bring him through.

Wayne arrived about five minutes later. He was wearing a black puffer jacket and skinny ripped jeans, quite severely and randomly sliced, as if to replicate the damage caused by a badger attack. He seemed unconcerned and in good spirits. ‘They sent you! What have I done to deserve that?’ he asked as he seated himself gracefully on the chair opposite me.

‘What’s wrong with me, Wayne? I’m a bona fide hotshot and you know it.’

‘Nah, mate, you are always high on coffee and Battenberg – enough to make you erratic at the very least.’

He fist-pumped me to indicate that he was actually pleased to see me. His first question was the same as that of every other client I have attended to at the police station.

‘So can you get me out of here, like now? I’ve got a coffee shop to govern.’

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

‘Well, the severity of the charges, the strength of the evidence against you, whether you are likely to interfere with witnesses, whether you are in employment, whether you have ever jumped bail before…’

He interrupted:

‘Listen, I haven’t done anything. The coppers put the drugs in the car. They’ve done it before to my dad. They do it to intimidate him. He used to be a copper. He knows stuff about how they used to carry on and they don’t think he can keep his mouth shut. It’s just a reminder. The charges will be dropped, just you wait and see. It’s a fucking game.’