Crabb's metaphorical hackles raise subtly, but, to someone like Smith, notably. The unfortunate fact is that at this time of her life Crabb had only within the last few weeks had her name dragged through the paper connecting her to another man in the city, so neither him immediately knowing her name nor asking about Tom is encouraging. Not suspicious, no, but not endearing.

"...Special Inspector Crabb, yeah," she says, tone immediately wary. Even 'Tom' looks similar, he's hated that article since the day it was posted—genuinely, too. "And this is—"

"—Tom Broadfoot," 'Tom' says. "I'm here to accept the cheque and Inspector Crabb has done me the simple favour of providing me some bearable company until then."