The young constable appeared stricken, far beyond the obvious bodily pain. His eyes were white; he looked tired. He ran a sandpaper tongue across his chipped incisor and said, ‘Let’s just say that a little poof like me gets regular reminders of what this town really thinks of him.’

His voice was thin and reedy; he had a hunted look. Manolis considered his words of support delicately. The kid was clearly hurting, physically and emotionally. But every beating was a measure of his loyalty to himself.

Without warning, a grin appeared on Sparrow’s face. Manolis watched it grow into a smile and finally a laugh. ‘But you should see the other guy.’ Sparrow chuckled. ‘My eye may be purple, but it’ll heal. His broken teeth won’t.’

Manolis’s forehead uncreased. He was pleased to see the kid showing his fight, his spunk, a backbone. ‘Nice one.’

Sparrow arched an eyebrow in surprise. He extinguished his smoke. ‘And here I was thinking you might try to spin me some hippy-dippy city bullshit about political correctness.’

‘I don’t always live by the book.’

They went inside. The station was empty. Joe was gone, and there was no sign of his neighbour either. Manolis was stunned. He enquired as to their whereabouts.

‘We let ’em go,’ Sparrow breathed.

‘You… what?’

‘About an hour ago. There was too much bad blood, they were gonna kill each other in the same cell, and Sarge didn’t want another death in custody, no matter how it came about.’

Manolis stopped in his tracks. The hull of his ribs ached as if he’d been kicked. There was still work to do to restore law and order.

Sparrow took a plastic seat in the tearoom and helped himself to a crooked strip of jerky from an old jam jar. He laid it precisely into his swollen mouth, tore it with back teeth, chewed methodically. Manolis checked the holding cell, saw the open door, the fresh bloodstains on the floor. Mumbling Greek curses under his breath, he reluctantly joined Sparrow.

A hot silence thickened in the room, a warm slice of light falling across the plastic table. Sparrow said not to expect Fyfe anytime soon – he’d called in sick. Kerr would be in later after taking her mother grocery shopping, as they did every Thursday payday when their wages actually came through.

‘Kate told me what you found at Molly’s. Still no sign of her phone though, eh. How’d you go yesterday up at the brown house? You meet with Onions?’

‘I did,’ said Manolis.

‘He’s ex-military. Could you tell? Was once stationed somewhere remote. It’s why he got the gig here as facility manager, along with being a former army sergeant and complete bastard.’

‘The job needs a firm hand.’