Porter glanced involuntarily around the room. There were several dozen tables, all bar two of them empty. A young couple sat at the table by the window, oblivious to the scene that was unfolding, eyes only for each other. Four young men occupied a table in the far corner, suit jackets slung across the backs of their chairs, top buttons undone on their shirts and ties with knots that had relaxed a few inches below the collar.

Anderson nodded and returned the smile with an equally cold one of his own. ‘Business is booming, Jimmy. We’ll call ahead next time and book. In the meantime, why not get them to pack up your food to go, and you can finish it down the station while we have a chat.’

‘Sounds like he’s asking me out on a date, Mr Stenner, not very politely I might add. I preferred it when he called me James. What do you think, should I play hard to get?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Jimmy, you’re not my type. I’m not in the mood to fuck around today, though. James Bolton, you’re under arrest for the murders of Owen Carter and Michael Gibson, and the attempted murder of Eve Simmons.’

Bolton sat back and looked impassively up at Anderson as he recited the rest of the statement. When Anderson was finished, Bolton plucked the napkin from his lap and dabbed his lips before laying it on top of the remnants of his meal. Porter looked on, reminded of the sheet he had seen draped over Carter.

‘You’re making a big mistake,’ he said, his eyes moving slowly, deliberately, from one officer to the next. ‘In every sense of the word. However, never let it be said that I don’t cooperate with our fine boys in blue.’

Bolton put his hands up in mock surrender and stood up slowly, before extending his wrists towards Anderson, who grabbed them as roughly as he could, trying to pull Bolton away from his table. He might as well have been tugging on a towrope anchored to a vehicle for all it moved Bolton. The big man just smirked and watched with a bored expression as Anderson cuffed him.

They repeated the process with Stenner, and Booth stepped forward and did the honours with his cuffs. He and Thomas manoeuvred Stenner towards the door. Whittaker, in the meantime, came to the opposite side of Bolton and put a hand on his left arm, while Anderson took the other. As they steered him out past the silent stares of the restaurant staff, Bolton spoke over his shoulder to the restaurant manager.

‘Make the call, please, Mr Lau.’