‘Adam?’ I ask, surprised. I would have thought his local would be The Horseshoe in the high street. It’s much nearer to where they live.

He nods, his hands making large, circular movements as he sweeps the cloth back and forth along the mahogany. Can’t the man stay still for two seconds? ‘Yep. Nice bloke. Keeps himself to himself. Actually,’ he pauses mid-swipe, ‘I’ve seen him talking to Clive.’

I’m so shocked I almost choke on my crisps. ‘What? When?’

His caterpillar eyebrows knit together as he remembers. ‘A while back now. Probably a month ago. Before I barred Clive anyway. Yes, they met up a few times and they always sat over there.’ He points to a table in the far corner, by a fireplace. ‘It looked a bit hush-hush, to be honest.’ He taps his nose. ‘A few times I wondered what they were concocting. But I recognized Adam because he used to go to the shooting range, where I’m a member.’

‘Do you recall anything else?’ asks Jack, when it’s obvious I’m unable to speak. I’m reeling. Adam hasn’t once mentioned any connection to the Wilsons. In fact, I remember him categorically denying any prior knowledge of them.

‘No. Sorry. I only saw them together a few times. Adam never came in again. And then not long after that I caught Clive trying to deal drugs and, well, that was the end of that.’ He lifts his shoulders into a half-hearted shrug.

‘And how long ago was all this?’

He frowns, remembering. ‘The drugs thing happened a week or so before he died, so … yes, before that.’

I push my business card towards him, asking him to call me if he remembers anything else. Then Jack and I take our drinks and crisps and go to sit at a quiet table.

Adam knew Clive. Does that mean Heather did too? And, if so, what were they involved in?

We’re walking up Park Street towards the newsroom when I see it. The headline jumps out at me from the stand outside the newsagent’s. TRAGIC SISTER’S EX REVEALS SEASIDE SHOOTER’S VIOLENT PAST. The bloody Daily News. Again.

Jack, who has only just noticed I’ve stopped, retraces his steps to join me. He’s eating a Brie baguette from a paper bag. ‘Shit,’ he says, through a mouthful of food, his eyes scanning the article over my shoulder.

‘I was friends with Heather when this happened. It’s not as bad as it sounds.’