‘It would only get out if one of us puts it out there. And I don’t know about you, but I’d say that anyone who wilfully did something like that to hurt our reputation, that took the shine off the good work we do, well, I’d say that they weren’t cut out for a career in the police force. Wouldn’t you?’

Had Nesbitt really just threatened him at a press conference? Of course not. In Nesbitt’s own words, it would be what Porter could prove. This wasn’t the time or place to say anything more, though. Porter saw the danger lurking in Nesbitt’s eyes, almost willing him to keep going, to say enough to give him an excuse to make Porter’s life hell at some point down the line.

‘I suppose so, sir.’ He tried to wrap as much disrespect around that last word as he could.

‘Good. Glad we’re in agreement. Now, if you’ll excuse me …’

Nesbitt breezed past him and up onto the raised platform. The excited hum of the journalists behind ebbed and flowed as they jostled for pole position with their questions. Porter stayed with his back to them, composing himself, not turning around until Nesbitt spoke into the microphone. He strode down the side of the room without turning a single head.

The walls of the hallway felt like they were closing in as he headed for the front door. He needed to get away from here. From people. Get away to somewhere he could shout and swear with impunity. His hands unconsciously clenched and unclenched as he made it out into the fresh air, as if closing around Nesbitt’s neck. He breathed in deeply, and out again, Twice more. Felt his head clearing. What made him even angrier was that part of what Nesbitt said kind of made sense. It would have been a hard conviction to secure if Locke had survived, but he would have given it a damn good go.

As far as the thing with Anderson and Campbell went, it stung him to admit it, but there was some truth to what Nesbitt was saying. There was nothing to be gained unless they could prove any of it, but it didn’t stop Porter feeling betrayed. He and Anderson hadn’t exactly been best pals, but Porter would put his life on the line for any one of his fellow officers, and he expected them to do the same for him. Not to stab him in the fucking back. As for Campbell, you took it for granted that even those who became pen-pushers and politicians were still on the right side. He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner, for not questioning why Campbell had been so obstructive when it came to Locke.