Porter shook his head. ‘I can’t put my finger on it yet, but Barclay selling out to Locke doesn’t feel right. Whether that sent Barclay over the edge and he hurt Natasha, or whether she got caught up in the middle of whatever was going on between them, I don’t know. Either way, I say we work both cases. There’s too many roads leading to Locke for them to be just coincidence. We can pick up where we left off tomorrow on that one too.’ He checked his watch: ten-thirty. ‘Go on, all of you get some sleep and we hit this full steam ahead in the morning.’

Pep talk done, he looked back at Simmons. He saw from the corner of his eye that the others had started to wander towards the exit. He watched her for a moment longer, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. For a second he was back at Holly’s bedside, waiting for the flicker of an eyelid that never came. His eyes started to mist around the edges, and he blinked tears away before anyone could see. The lack of arrest, the absence of someone to blame, still festered in a dark corner inside like an unlanced boil. Her death had left a blank space in his life, and no direction in which to channel his anger.

Blink.

His mind snapped back to the present. This was not Holly. This time, things would be different. This time there was a face to funnel that rage towards. He turned and trotted to catch up with Styles.

I’m coming for you, Jimmy.

‘You’ve got to believe me, boss. I had no idea he was peddling bad gear, let alone talking to the coppers.’ Andrew Patchett’s usual low grumble of a voice had snuck up an octave in protest.

‘I don’t have to do anything, Mr Patchett. I do, however, believe you. If I didn’t, you’d have been booked on the same one-way trip as Mr Carter. What about that lanky streak of piss he hung round with? What’s his name again? Thick as thieves, those two. You found him yet?’

‘Jono Murray? Yep, picked him up this morning. Daft bastard went round to Carter’s place to pick up what was left of that shite they were selling. Useless fuckers had been cutting it with anything and everything they could find in the bathroom cabinet.’

‘Where is he now?’ Bolton squeezed his knuckles, popping them like bubble wrap.

Patchett jerked his head towards the far wall. ‘Through there. Think he’s lost a stone in sweat since we brought him in. He’s bricking it.’

‘Let’s go and have a little chat, then, shall we?’