“Why not take on some help?”

“Can’t afford it. The profit margin’s slim in this line of work. Besides, I can manage. When I can’t, I know it’ll be time for me to retire.”

“Anywhere in mind?”

“I’ve been saving. I had the Costa del Sol in mind at one time but Spain’s gone bust these days, like my savings. I’ll probably end up in a caravan park in Scunthorpe.”

Annie laughed. “You could at least try Redcar. It’s a bit closer to home.”

“Aye, maybe I will, at that.” The kettle boiled, and Nuttall busied himself filling the teapot and making sure the mugs he picked from the shelf were clean. He brought milk and sugar out of one of the filing cabinets and set them on the table. When he’d finished he glanced at Wilson. “Brought the boss this time, have you, lad? It must be serious.”

“We hope not,” said Wilson. “We just need to go over one or two points with you.” He took out his notebook and Annie picked up the questioning, starting by identifying the VW Transporter by its number, color and logo.

“Is that the only transport you have?” she asked.

“It is. It’s big enough for my deliveries and it doubles as a decent-enough car for any personal trips I might wish to make.”

“Now, the last time DC Wilson was here, you told him you had a delivery in Southampton on the morning of Wednesday, the twenty-second of July, and that you drove down there from here during the night of the twenty-first. Is that correct?”

“It is.”

“Do you often drive at night?”

“Long distances, yes. It saves time, and I enjoy it. Gives me time to think. I’m not married. I live alone, so it doesn’t matter whether I’m in or out. Sometimes I listen to books on tape or on the radio. LBC. I like Darren Adam and Steve Allen.”

Annie shifted in her seat and leaned back as much as she could. “Well, it’s a serious case,” she said, “so we did a routine check with the dealer in Southampton, a Mr. Rodney Pomfret—is that correct?”

“Rodney. Yes.”

“His records seem to indicate that you made the delivery two days earlier, on the Monday morning. Which means you must have driven to Southampton on Sunday night.”

“I’m not being charged with breaking the Sabbath, am I?”

“Not this time. We’ll let that one slip by. But it’s a bit of a discrepancy, isn’t it? Two days.”

Nuttall scratched his head. “I was sure it was Tuesday,” he said. “I must have got the days mixed up. Old age catching up with me. My memory’s not been that good lately. Maybe I drove back on Tuesday night.”