The two men are still out of shot, but occasionally something comes into view at the edge of the screen. The top of a head. An arm. And then, at one point, the two men together, seemingly fighting. They tussle together in the restricted space, then disappear.

Robin can only guess at what’s going on. Something happened to Simon and the two men got into a fight. But it’s not murder, Robin thinks. It’s not—

His hands go to his mouth. He stares at the screen, shocked. Robin has seen some things in his time – horrific, scary, violent acts – but this scene renders him speechless.

Sharp has come back into the main part of the van. And the video shows the sickening action in high-resolution, full-colour definition.

Sharp’s staggering, his hands clamped to his neck. He’s flailing about, twisting and turning in panic, head, limbs, hands bumping against the sides of the vehicle. And the blood. The blood is everywhere.

It pushes out from between his fingers, spurts erupting in a fountain of red, hitting the walls and the window. He turns, his mouth open, gasping, his face puce, eyes bulging. And still the blood flows.

Sharp drops to his knees on the metal floor. The blood has completely soaked his shirt now; his hands and arms are covered with it. He looks back, to where Finn must have been standing. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and then he falls. His body lies where Robin remembers it, half under the table, legs bent under him.

Robin looks at Freya, stunned. Her mouth is open, her eyes unblinking: an expression he knows must be echoed on his own face.

They look back to the video. A blood pool expands around the body. Finn walks back into shot. One step, then another. Slowly, his gaze fixed on the motionless Simon Sharp on the floor, Finn shuffles past, his back to the wall, keeping as far away from the body as possible. He paces for a moment, bloody footprints in his wake. Then he sits down. His knees go up to his chest, his arms wrap around them. Still staring.

‘He stays like that until about half three,’ the techie says.

‘Then what?’ Craig asks, her voice no more than a whisper.

‘Then he panics. He gets up and locks the door. Starts screaming and shouting. Until you guys arrive.’

‘Shit,’ Robin mutters.

Craig looks at him. Her voice is faint. ‘I’m sorry, Butler.’

And he nods. There is nothing else to say. The video is clear. There was nobody else in that van.

Finn killed Sharp. And everyone knows it.

Even Robin.

59

The air stills. Everyone is silent. Even though Craig has her man, nobody, not even the most hardened police officer, likes to watch someone die.

‘Poor guy,’ Grey whispers, his hands over his mouth.