The side of Murray’s face glowed pink, eyes watering. A trickle of blood mingling with snot snaked out of his nose and down his face. ‘That was Owen. That was all Owen,’ he whimpered. ‘If you’re worried I would say anything to Mr Locke, you needn’t. I—’

Bolton’s foot shot out and connected with Murray’s chin, snapping his head back. ‘You’ll be lucky if you can manage a confession to your fucking priest by the time I’m finished with you, son.’

Murray’s eyes rolled back, mouth opening, blood lining the gaps between his teeth. Whatever sound he was trying to make, it was stuck halfway down his throat and all he could manage was a choking rattle.

‘Boss?’ Patchett spoke for the first time since they’d entered the room. ‘Hate to stop you in full flow, but he can’t talk if you break his jaw. How else will we find out who he’s talked to?’

Bolton stood over Murray now, one leg planted either side of his chest, watching it heave up and down like a bellows. He didn’t bother turning round as he spoke to Patchett. ‘This isn’t about whether he’s talked or not. He stole from me. Where would I be if I let that kind of thing slide? I’d be on the floor underneath somebody’s boot like this little shit here.’ Bolton placed the sole of his shoe on Murray’s neck. ‘Now I suggest you don’t interrupt me again.’

Bolton looked down at Murray, at his eyes, pupils dilated to the size of five pence pieces. He drew his knee up to chest height, put all his weight into it, and drove it down with a sickening crack on the bridge of Murray’s nose. He stepped back, admiring his work. He noticed a splash of blood on his shoe, and wiped it against Murray’s T-shirt. What had started out as a white top was now speckled with red like a Jackson Pollock painting. Fear trumps respect every time.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Deciphering a dream could be like trying to translate a foreign language after hearing it for the first time; the images had an echo of familiarity, but the true meaning hovered tantalisingly out of reach. Other times you ended up dreaming about something you saw on the news before you turned in for the night. Porter woke with a start after a dose of the latter.