'What?'

'If I was that girl's dad, I would have gone for the lawyer rather than the rapist.'

'Why? What good would that have done?'

'Because there's an argument that the rapist couldn't help what he did, that his urges were just too much to handle. I'd still cut his balls off, but that's not the point. The point is, the lawyer had the choice not to defend him. She was an intelligent, rational woman. She knew what he'd done and still she did all in her power to put him back on the streets. Hers was therefore the greater crime.'

'I don't understand that argument at all.'

'The greatest evil in the world comes not from those who perpetrate it, but from those who excuse it.'

Danny shook his head like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'Jesus, Dennis, you're beginning to sound like some sort of Angel of Death. You want to calm down a little. It's not as if you're whiter than white yourself.'

Which was true. I wasn't. But I consider myself to have principles – codes of conduct to which I strictly adhere – and that, I felt, gave me the justification to say my piece.

I was about to tell Danny this when the radio crackled into life.

'All right, they're here,' hissed the disembodied voice. 'Black Cherokee, three occupants. It's them.'

Danny started the engine while I slid silently out of the car, flicked the cigarette away, and walked towards the spot where the Cherokee would appear, knowing that this was going to be the one and only chance I was going to get.

There was a clank as it hit the speed ramp, then it came round the side of the main building and drove slowly into the car park, looking for a place to stop. I broke into a jog, waving my hands to get the driver's attention. In my Barbour jacket and shirt and tie, I looked every inch the harassed businessman.

The Cherokee continued moving but came to a halt as I reached the driver's side window and banged on it. 'Excuse me, excuse me.' My voice was different now. Higher pitched, less confident.