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Standing outside the large iron gates to Gary McCann’s house, Culverhouse pressed the button on the intercom and waited for a response. As the speaker clicked and crackled, he spoke before the person on the other end could even get a word out.
‘McCann, open up. We need to talk.’
‘Sorry, who’s this?’ McCann replied, in a falsely jovial voice.
‘You know exactly who it is. You’re looking right at me,’ Culverhouse said, raising his middle finger to the pinhole camera in the intercom unit.
A couple of seconds later, there was a loud click and the gates started whirring open. By the time Culverhouse had got to the end of the drive, the front door had also opened and the imposing figure of Gary McCann stood waiting for him on the doorstep.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Culverhouse. It’s bee
