‘Thanks, Mr Awad, if you point us in their direction that’d be great,’ said Porter tersely. He was getting tired of Awad ending every response with a dismissive remark of his own.

Awad checked the shift rota and quickly determined that Willy Thompson was back there in his forklift somewhere, and wouldn’t clock out for another three hours. Alec Brookes was on a day off, and Styles jotted down contact details for him so they could call by on the way back to the station rather than make another trip back to the warehouse.

Thompson was a short, barrel-chested man with a ruddy complexion. Both forearms had an eclectic mix of faded tattoos that continued upwards, part of the collage disappearing up into his sleeves. His gut bore witness to a sedentary lifestyle, almost touching the steering wheel of the forklift as he shuffled out of his seat to meet them. He had worked for Atlas since 1980, and had seen Nathan Barclay around plenty, but never exchanged more than a few words with him.

Styles showed him a copy of a picture they had taken from Natasha’s flat. She wore a knee-length cotton dress, white with black polka dots, which threatened to billow up around her Monroe-style. One hand pinning the hem to her thigh, the other holding onto a wide brimmed straw hat. Happier times.

Thompson shook his head. Styles segued into questions about the debts and the takeover. Had Barclay spent more time than usual at work? Did he seem stressed by what was happening to the business? Thompson answered in short clipped sentences with vague recollections of nothing being out of the ordinary. When Porter and Styles climbed back into their car five minutes later, they didn’t feel they knew Nathan Barclay any better. He was a good man to work for by all accounts, but they had gleaned nothing significant about the man himself.

‘You think he was holding back?’ asked Styles.

‘Hard to say,’ said Porter. ‘He looked nervous, but it is a long time ago, and people do feel naturally uncomfortable when we land out of the blue. Fancy a trip to see the other guy, Brookes, before we head back?’

‘Might as well,’ said Styles. ‘Can we grab a coffee on the way there, though? Caffeine withdrawal is kicking in.’ He held up a hand, exaggerated forced tremors making it practically vibrate. They pulled away without giving the warehouse another glance.