Porter reached down with two fingers and a thumb to pick it up, then thought better of it. If it had been used, he didn’t want to contaminate any fingerprints. Besides, he should be able to handle an old man like Locke without a weapon, and it wasn’t like Stenner was going to be sneaking up on him any time soon.

Muttering and the sound of running water came from the other room. Porter couldn’t make out the words, or even confirm who it was, and made his way silently through the doorway. It was a utility room, washer and drier against the far wall, a window that looked out into the back garden. He wondered if Styles had made it that far yet. Locke stood with his back to Porter, bent over in front of an old-fashioned porcelain sink. A black canvas duffle sat on the bench next to him, zip open, but Porter couldn’t see inside from this angle. Locke had the shirt sleeve rolled up high on his left arm, and had wrapped enough gauze around it to border on mummification.

‘You’d be better off getting that seen to at a hospital, Mr Locke,’ said Porter. He thought back to the pistol on the bench, wondering for a second time if he should have picked it up as insurance. Locke wound the bandage twice more around, reaching for a black-handled pair of scissors by his bag.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Might be seen as a weapon. We don’t want anyone outside getting the wrong idea, now, do we?’ The lie came easy to him.

Locke looked up, out of the window, searching for faces between the leaves outside. He drew his hand back away from the scissors, tucking the end of the bandage into the top for now. He turned around to face the doorway, and Porter swore he’d aged ten years since the river. Could be blood loss, could be shock, thought Porter.

‘Is this where you tell me you’ve got armed officers with itchy trigger fingers?’ he said, but there was little in the way of fight left in his voice.

‘You know I wouldn’t come here alone.’

‘James?’ Locke asked. There was something about the way he spoke; Porter couldn’t decide which answer would satisfy him more, and just shook his head. Locke looked down at his feet, and when he looked up again, there was a little more determination in his face. ‘Terrible thing if he hurt that poor girl,’ said Locke. ‘And those officers at the warehouse. Just doing their job.’ He shook his head like a parent disapproving of their child’s behaviour. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.’

Porter sneered. ‘Save it, Locke. We both know you’re not innocent in all this.’