‘I’ve got as long as you need, Harry. But I want the truth this time. All of it.’

Pauline shut the little interview room door with her foot and checked the corridor. Empty. Good. She sat, phone clamped to her ear, notebook open, pen already poised.

On the other end of the line Harry Riddles exhaled slowly. She could hear the whisky in his breath even down the phone.

‘You remember I told you there were four of us?’ he said. ‘Me. Joe Samson. Frankie Gittins. And Ernest Thompson.’

‘I’ve seen the photograph, Harry. All grinning away in your Masonic bibs and tuckers. Get to the part you’ve conveniently “forgotten” until now.’

‘We weren’t just the “Hartleydale Freemasons” that year.’ Riddles&...

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