All his street senses told him to get the hell out of it, but curiosity got the better of him. It required a considerable effort, but Sammy was able to haul the bin under the light. He climbed up on to it and as he peered down into it he started to scream.

Such was his panic that he did not pause to pick up his belongings. He even abandoned the new leather jacket. Sammy’s only desire was to run away as fast as his legs would carry him, precisely what he should have done in the first place.

Unfortunately for Sammy, the police officers who had observed this manic dosser tearing towards them had other plans. They grabbed him and Sammy knew that another personal nightmare was only just beginning.

McAllister and Taylor arrived back at the police office and went straight to the room in which they knew HOLMES had been set up and from which the inquiry would be run. Matters were already gathering their own momentum. Several officers were busying themselves with the many mundane duties necessary to get a major investigation under way. Computer screens were switched on, files were being opened, telephones were in constant use.

Having satisfied himself that the operation was well and truly under way, McAllister headed towards his own office.

‘Let’s have a chat, Bob. See what we’ve got so far.’

‘Cup of cats?’ The coffee, tea, soup and hot chocolate produced by the vending machine in the building was disaffectionately known as ‘cat’s piss.’ Each beverage had a similar appearance and, although no one could swear to it from personal experience, the suspicion was that it all tasted the same.

‘Why not? Everyone should live dangerously now and again.’

Seated in the Superintendent’s room, the two men concluded, having tasted the lukewarm liquid, that life was dangerous enough without taking unnecessary risks.

‘Right, Bob, we’ve got Kevin Boyle shot dead. Whoever did it meant him not to survive. Maybe he was a man with a grudge against the bold boy, who just happened to be passing, just happened to have a nine-millimetre pistol with him, just happened to see yer man and just shot him.’

‘Not likely.’

‘No, there’s nothing due to chance about this. The killer had to be told where Kevin was. Either that or he has been following him. Then he had to get away after the shooting.’

‘Hopefully, someone saw the thing actually happen. Even if they can’t identify the gunman, they might be able to help us with the car. It’s highly unlikely he just casually strolled away.’

‘Agreed. We need to know why Kevin was in that particular street in the first place. Who was he visiting? Was he arriving or was he leaving?’

‘He was leaving.’

McAllister looked quizzically at his colleague, not because of the comment itself, but the degree of confidence with which it was made.