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was there. Rowbottom was a fastidious dresser, nothing out of place in his plain, sober outfit, and his beard and moustache were perfectly trimmed. He struck Pyke as the kind of man who would know, to the last penny, how much money he had in the bank.
     
    ‘I’m afraid I don’t recognise her,’ he said, barely looking at the picture. He put his hand to his mouth and yawned.
     
    ‘She might have arrived on the same ship as a black man called Arthur Sobers.’ Pyke offered a brief description of Sobers.
     
    ‘I still don’t recognise her and I’ve certainly never come across a gentleman matching your description.’
     
    ‘You barely looked at the drawing.’
     
    Rowbottom glanced down at the drawing and looked up again, his face blank. ‘There. I’ve never seen her before in my life.’
     
    ‘Then maybe you could tell me how many ships from Jamaica have docked here in the last two months.’
     
    ‘I’m afraid I don’t have that information to hand.’ Rowbottom adjusted his collar. All of a sudden, he seemed a little unsure of himself.
     
    ‘But you could find out.’
     
    Rowbottom eyed him carefully. ‘Take a look around you, Mr ...?’
     
    ‘Just Pyke will do.’
     
    ‘This is a working dock, Mr Pyke. It’s not a place where passengers from the Caribbean embark and disembark.’
     
    ‘But the ships that depart from, and arrive, here must occasionally carry passengers.’ It wasn’t intended as a question.
     
    ‘On the odd occasion, perhaps.’
     
    ‘And given what a meticulous man you are, I’m guessing you would take a record of these albeit unlikely occurrences.’
     
    ‘Perhaps, but as I’m sure you’ll understand, it’s against our policy to permit non-company personnel to inspect company records.’ He drummed his fingers impatiently on the polished surface of his desk.
     
    ‘So you’re not prepared to confirm or deny that Mary Edgar disembarked from a ship that docked here?’
     
    Rowbottom continued to tap his fingers against the desk. ‘Could I perhaps enquire as to the purpose of your visit?’
     
    ‘She was strangled and her corpse was dumped just off the Ratcliff Highway.’ Pyke paused to check Rowbottom’s expression, but even this piece of information failed to provoke a reaction. ‘I’m in charge of the investigation.’
     
    ‘You’re a police officer, then?’
     
    ‘Not as such, but I am working for the police.’
     
    Rowbottom sat back in his chair, trying to show he wasn’t intimidated. ‘But you’re not actually a policeman.’
     
    ‘No.’
     
    ‘In which case, I’m going to kindly request that you leave these premises forthwith.’ He even managed a smile. Pyke wanted to pull his teeth out with pliers.
     
    ‘Is that all you’re prepared to do for me?’
     
    ‘To be perfectly honest, sir, I don’t much care for the tone of your questions or your impertinent manner.’
     
    Pyke licked his lips. He could feel the heat rising in his neck. ‘You haven’t even begun to see impertinent.’ It wasn’t just Rowbottom he detested, it was what he stood for: a whole class of men -respectable, small minded and tyrannical in their pettiness - who were quietly taking over the country. You could find them in every government office, sallow and stiff lipped, processing and documenting the world without ever leaving their desks, affecting people’s lives with the stroke of a pen and the stamp of their official seal, never actually seeing the consequences of their actions in the wider world.
     
    ‘I’m going to have you escorted from the docks.’ He called out for Gumm, his assistant. ‘The last thing the men here need is unnecessary interruption of their duties.’
     
    But Pyke took a few steps towards Rowbottom’s desk. ‘I can find out whether a ship docked here from Jamaica with or without your help.’
     
    ‘ Gumm ,’ Rowbottom called out. He looked flustered now, even a little frightened. ‘Where are you?’
     
    Pyke leaned