And there it was. I could’ve kicked myself for asking. I knew what Mackey had told Conway. Didn’t need to hear it, from either of them.

Interesting strategy, letting young Stephen on board. Some might say downright insane, but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt . . .

‘Ahhh,’ said Mackey, stretching. Glanced at his smoke, burned down to long ash. Tossed it on the ground. ‘I needed that. Shall we?’

Conway was leaning against the outside of the door, hands in her trouser pockets, not moving. Waiting for us. I knew then.

You’re no idiot, Detective Conway; I’m betting you know the story on how Holly and I met Moran. Some of it, anyway. Want to hear the rest?

She straightened up as we got close. Opened the door, held it for Mackey. Caught my eye. As she closed the door behind Mackey, he flicked a winner’s grin over his shoulder at me.

Conway said, ‘I’ll take it from here.’

Moran was brand-new out of uniform, doing floater work on a murder case. The D in charge was called Kennedy. Kennedy was good to young Stephen. Very good. Pulled him out of the deep end of the floater pool, gave him a shot at the big time. Most Ds wouldn’t’ve done it; most Ds would’ve stuck to tried and true, no newbies need apply. Bet Kennedy wishes he had . . .

I only did what Mackey wanted me to do, back then. It never hit me, and it should’ve, that he would keep it tucked away in his back pocket: something he could use against me someday, if he ever needed to.

I said – keeping it down: his ear was pressed to the back of that door – ‘Mackey’s trying to fuck with us.’

‘There’s no us. There’s me and my case, and then there’s some guy who’s been useful for the day and isn’t any more. Don’t worry: I’ll write your gaffer a nice note about what a good boy you were.’

Like a punch in the jaw. It shouldn’t’ve hit me; she was right, it had only been one day. Got me goodo.

It must’ve shown. The face on me pulled some fleck of guilt out of Conway. She said, ‘I’ll give you a lift back to HQ – give me your mobile number, I’ll text you when I’m done here. Till then, get a sandwich. Go for a nice walk, admire the grounds. See if you can get Chris’s ghost to pop up for you. Whatever.’

The second your boy Moran saw his chance, he shagged Kennedy up the arse with no Vaseline. Fuck loyalty, fuck gratitude, fuck doing the right thing: all young Stephen cared about was his glorious career.