He was sitting in the interview room with his solicitor. The audio feed was on. If he was nervous, he wasn’t showing it. Or sounding it. He was telling the solicitor about a big pheasant shoot in Lincolnshire that he had been invited to. His bluff auctioneer’s manner darkened when I walked in. He let me see the scowl. ‘I hope you’re coming to tell me that we can leave.’ ‘That’s not up to me, I’m afraid, Mr McGuire,’ I replied soothingly, and proceeded to formally set up the interview. Bryn had already advised me that the solicitor wasn’t a threat; a country practitioner who was way out of his depth. Gordon turned his professional charm back on. ‘We tried to help a friend out, Sergeant. Okay, technically, we may have done something borderline illegal. But isn’t all of this –’ he barked a short laugh and spread his hands, taking in the recording machinery and personnel in the room ‘– just a little bit over-elaborate for a misdemeanour?’ ‘Where is Boon Paterson, Mr McGuire?’ He glanced at his solicitor and sighed wearily.
