Brookes sat back against the couch and looked down at the cup resting on his leg. ‘Look, I need that job. I might not like the man, but he pays well, and … well, c’mon.’ He pinched a fold of wool by the collar of his faded blue jumper, pulling it out slightly from his chest. ‘I’m not exactly gonna find a job in an office wearing a suit any time soon, am I?’

‘I take it by “the man” you mean the current owner, Mr Locke?’

‘He didn’t lose it. It was nicked from him at that price, however you dress it up. Thirty years Mr Locke has owned that place now,’ said Brookes, the corners of his mouth turning down in distaste. ‘Thirty years and he’s barely even been to the site, let alone spared two words for anyone there.’ He shook his head. ‘Now, Mr Barclay, there was a proper gaffer.’

‘Mr Brookes, anything you say to us is in confidence. We’re not going to report back to anyone at Atlas, least of all Mr Locke. What can you tell us about when the business changed hands?’

Brookes blew on his tea, watching the surface vibrate and the ripples break against the side of the cup. The seconds stretched out. He sighed, the decision made.

‘I know he was in bother, money-wise, you know? His dad had built that up from nothing. After he took over, we were busier than ever.’ He smiled, remembering the good times. ‘As much overtime as you could handle. My bookie saw most of that. Only ever saw Mr Locke there once before all that’ – he gestured with his hand – ‘stuff happened.’ His face hardened at the mention of Locke.

‘What happened when Mr Locke came by?’ asked Porter.

‘Wasn’t just him.’ Brookes shook his head. ‘Him and his boys turned up. Little ’n’ Large, we called ’em. Don’t get me wrong, they never laid a finger on him. Didn’t have to.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Styles.

‘They just stood and talked in his office. Whatever they said to him in there did the trick, though.’

‘In what way?’

‘Scared the shit out of him, it did. Didn’t have to be a hotshot copper to work that one out. It was written all over his face. You ask me, he was persuaded to sell up.’ He made quotation marks with his fingers at the mention of persuasion, the gesture echoing the sarcasm in his voice.

‘When did that take place?’ asked Styles.

‘A week before he did himself in, maybe a day or two either way. Little ’n’ Large came back one more time, a couple of days after, but Mr Locke wasn’t with them that time.’

‘Little and Large? You mentioned them before, who are they?’