‘Not sure, really. I’m just thinking out loud, but when someone is a step ahead it tends to be cos they know what’s coming.’

‘You’re thinking Locke has someone on our side of the fence?’

Porter arched his eyebrows. He had, as it happened, but wasn’t ready to voice any suspicions yet. ‘I was going to say maybe he has a man following one or more of us, so he knows when we’re coming for him, but that’s an interesting point you bring up. Guess anything’s possible.’

Anderson shot a quick glance first over Porter’s shoulder, then his own. He moved closer now so they were only a foot apart. When he spoke, his voice was low despite there being nobody else within twenty feet.

‘I didn’t want to say anything in the room yesterday, but I think you could be right.’ His eyes continued to scan the surroundings as he talked. ‘About a month ago, I ran into a guy I arrested years back for dealing. He looked more nervous than he should so we started talking about reasonable grounds for a rummage through his pockets and his rucksack. He of course swears blind there’s nothing to see, and asks if I’m interested in a little information instead of a wasted search, as he puts it.’

Anderson paused for another drag on his cigarette. Porter glanced behind. The mourners had drifted away now, and he saw Styles leaning against their car over by the gates, hand to his head, presumably holding his phone.

‘So I was expecting the usual bullshit of rumours of some deal coming up that he’ll give me on a plate, but then he springs it on me. Says there’s a big outfit based down by the river, someone we’ve never heard of. Someone with a copper on the payroll.’

Porter’s eyes widened. It had been nothing more than a theory in his mind, one he hadn’t even shared with Styles yet, not through any mistrust but because he couldn’t quite convince himself it could be true.

‘And what did he tell you about this copper? Can he describe him or her?’

‘He went one further than that. He gave me a name. Well, a first name at least.’ Anderson took one more hit of nicotine before flicking the remaining stump, end over end, to the ground. He squashed it with his heel and dragged his foot back and forth a few times to finish the job. ‘He said the guy’s name was Mike.’

‘Mike? As in our Mike? Mike Gibson?’

Anderson’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘Keep it down,’ he warned. ‘I can’t prove it, but I had noticed Mike acting a little strange lately.’

‘Strange, how?’