He’s one nudge away from trying to walk out. If he goes for the door, I’m gonna have to choose: let him go, or arrest him. Neither of those sounds good.

‘Jesus, man, have you seen the weather?’ I say easily. ‘It’s lashing. You’ll get soaked. Plus, we’ll lose this interview room, and then we’ll all be hanging around for hours before we get another one.’ Rory stares at me, too disoriented to work out what he thinks about that. ‘Tell you what: we’ll give you a few minutes to yourself, OK? Just to get your breath. It’s a lot to take in.’

There’s a small sharp movement from Breslin, but I don’t look around. I give Rory a Cool Girl smile, enough sympathy to warm it but not enough to feel sticky. ‘We’ll have a cup of tea and come back to you,’ I say, scraping back my chair and standing up, before he can come up with a decision. ‘Can I get you a cuppa while I’m at it?’

‘No. Thanks. All I want is—’

Rory’s voice splits open. He presses the back of one hand against his mouth.

Breslin hasn’t moved. Those pale eyes are on me. They say, clear as a death grip on my wrist, Sit the fuck down.

I say, without taking my eyes off Breslin’s, ‘We’ll see you in a few, Rory. Hang in there.’

Then I turn around and go for the door. I leave it open behind me, but I don’t look back. I’m halfway to the observation room before I hear the nasty, juddering scrape of Breslin pushing back his chair on the grimy linoleum.

Steve’s at the one-way glass, with his shirtsleeves rolled up and red hair sticking out in all directions; he’s been putting a lot into watching us. I head over to see what Rory’s doing with his alone time. On the way my eyes hit Steve’s, but only for a second that says Later.

Rory has his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. The jump of his shoulders claims he’s crying. I can’t see if there are actual tears.

‘Well well well,’ Breslin says behind me, swinging the door shut with a bang. ‘I thought that went pretty well, for a first round. Nice work, Conway.’

Patronising fuck. ‘You didn’t do a bad job yourself,’ I say.

‘I’m not sure that was the right call, pulling out just when he’s going to pieces. That’s always a good moment to push for a confession.’ Breslin loosens his collar with a finger and rolls back his shoulders. ‘But hey: we got to him once, we can do it again. Am I right?’

‘Not a problem,’ I say. ‘So: what’s the betting?’

Breslin’s head pops forward like he can’t believe he heard me right. ‘Say what?’

‘The suspect, Detective. Guilty or not. I’m asking for your opinion.’

Breslin’s eyebrows are hitting his careful hairline. ‘Are you serious?’

‘About wanting your opinion? More or less.’