DI Yarrow looked up as Frankie Starling was led into the interview room at Armley Goal. He stood up and shook Frankie’s hand across the table and then both men sat down. Starling looked to have diminished in size since his arrest, his clothes hung baggily about his body and his close-cropped prison haircut accentuated the gauntness of his face, but he looked cheerful enough, giving Yarrow a broad smile which showed yellowing teeth, probably from too many cigarettes. What else was a condemned man going to do with his time, Yarrow thought, who was himself a heavy smoker.
The burley prison officer who had escorted Frankie then stood placidly in the corner, arms behind his back.
‘It’s all right officer,’ Yarrow said, ‘Frankie and I are old friends. You may leave.’
‘Can’t do that, sir, stand
