‘I’ve done my research, Connor. There wasn’t much difference between your grandad and Duncan Thorpe. They were both in the armed forces. They both wound up in prison. But in your grandad’s case, when he got out, he turned his life around. He was good with his hands, like you. He worked with charities that assisted ex-offenders, trying to give other men like himself a second chance. Your grandad was at HMP Winchester at the same time as Duncan Thorpe. He might even have met him. And if he’d known about his plight, I bet he’d have done anything to help him.’

She stops. Connor is bending down so close to the table, his forehead is almost touching his hands. Then she realises he’s crying.

‘My client needs a break,’ Reynolds interjects.

She glances nervously across to Josh. He gives her a barely perceptible nod. Carry on, he’s saying.

‘Connor?’ Freya almost whispers. ‘Please. Tell us.’

He shakes his head, still not looking at her. ‘I can’t.’

‘Please, Connor. You can.’

‘Detective. My client—’

‘They’ll destroy me.’

The room falls silent. Even the solicitor is quiet, hand paused on his pen.

‘Who?’ Freya asks. ‘Mark, Tyler and Lee?’

Connor nods. Then he looks up at Freya, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘They made Grandad’s life a misery. They’d sit outside his house until the early morning, drinking and shouting. When I came to live with him, it got worse. Dog shit through his letter box, graffitied our house. You name it. They said—’ He stops abruptly.

‘What did they say? You tell us, and we can put them away. For good.’ Freya pauses, leaning forward, her face close to his. ‘This is manslaughter, Connor. Murder, if we can prove it. Potential life in prison. This isn’t criminal damage or trespass. This is serious.’

‘Connor, you don’t have to answer that,’ Reynolds snaps. ‘My client isn’t under arrest.’

Josh sits up straight. ‘You keep quiet and it’s not good for you either, Connor,’ he says. Freya glances at him as if to say, careful now. Overplay the bad cop and the solicitor will whisk him out of here in seconds. ‘Even if you didn’t do it, that’s still conspiracy. Assisting at least.’

‘I can’t, I can’t.’

‘Connor, you can.’ Freya takes over again. ‘You’re stronger than you think. You’re a survivor. Even now, you’re living alone, looking after yourself. Going to college, getting a qualification. Carving out a life you can be proud of. What would your grandad tell you to do, Connor?’

Josh places a hand on her arm and she sits back in her seat. The solicitor scowls. She knows there’s nothing else they can say; they’ve played all their cards. The boy still has his head on his hands, but his crying has lessened.

Then he mumbles something, but she misses it.