‘Of course,’ Bryant said, emphatically.

And therein lay the disparity in her gut. ‘I think it was Einstein who said, if the facts don’t fit the theory, change the facts.’

‘Huh?’

‘The person who murdered our buried victim was measured and methodical. They managed to kill and dispose of at least one body without being caught. They left no clues and would have remained undetected, if not for the tenacity of Professor Milton.

‘Fast forward to Tom Curtis. The job was done with the alcohol but that wasn’t enough. There was a message loud and clear that this man deserved to die.’

Bryant swallowed. ‘Guv, don’t tell me your gut is saying what I think it’s saying?’

‘And what is that?’

‘That we’re looking for more than one killer?’

Kim took a sip of her latte. ‘What I think, Bryant, is that we’re going to need a bigger plate.’

Thirty-Six

‘Are you sure this is where she said?’ Kim asked.

‘Yep, this is the place; The Bull and Bladder. Famous for being the second pub along the Delph Run.’

The Delph Run was a collection of six pubs that were scattered the length of the Delph Road. The Corn Exchange kicked off the stretch at Quarry Bank and it ended with The Bell in Amblecote. It had become a rite of passage for groups of males and more recently, females, to work their way from one end to the other, consuming as much alcohol as their young bodies could contain.

No self-respecting man over the age of eighteen within a two-mile radius would admit to not having conquered the Delph Run.

Bryant had knocked on the door at the home of Arthur Connop to be informed by his indifferent wife where her husband could be found.

The Bull and Bladder was a triple-windowed building furnished with mahogany wood and a mustard-coloured exterior.

‘At eleven thirty?’ Kim asked. To her it looked like a place where you wiped your feet on the way out.

The outer door led into a small, dark corridor with choices. To the immediate left was the snug. Along the same wall were doorways to the toilets. The doors matched the dark wood on the windows outside and made the small space claustrophobic.

The stench of ale was worse than most crime scenes Kim had ever attended.

Bryant opened the door to the bar on the right. The room was not much lighter than the corridor.

A fixed booth ran the entire circumference of the wall. The upholstery was stained and dirty. Wooden tables sat in front of the banquette encircled by a couple of stools.

In the right hand corner was a newspaper and a half pint of beer.

Bryant approached the bar and spoke to a woman in her early fifties drying glasses with a dubious-looking tea towel.

‘Arthur Connop?’ he asked.

She nodded towards the door. ‘Just in the pisser.’

At that second the door opened and a male no taller than five feet entered, adjusting the belt to his trousers.

‘Cheese cob, Maureen,’ he said, walking right through them.

Maureen reached under a scratched plastic hood, examined a package and then placed it on the bar.

‘Two quid.’

‘And a pint of bitter,’ he glanced in their direction. ‘The coppers can get their own.’

Maureen pulled the pint and placed it on the bar. Arthur counted out the change and placed the money on a grungy beer mat.

‘Nothing for us, thanks,’ Bryant said, and for that Kim was truly grateful.

Arthur squeezed himself between the table and the banquette and sat down.

‘What d’ya want?’ he asked as they both took stools on the other side of the table.

‘Been expecting us, Mr Connop?’

He rolled his eyes impatiently. ‘I day come over on the banana boat. Yo bin digging up where I used to work. Folks I worked with am being knocked off so it weren't gonna be long til yer come looking for me.’

He unwrapped the cling film from the cob that appeared to be the only culinary fare on offer. The stench of onion reached Kim immediately. A small piece of grated cheese fell onto the table. Arthur licked his index finger, touched the table to retrieve the cheese, then ate it off his finger.

Kim was guessing those hands hadn’t been washed after his recent trip and suddenly she was fighting down nausea.

Bryant knocked her knee beneath the table. He obviously wished to lead this one and she was more than happy to let him.

‘Mr Connop, we’re after some background at the moment. Do you think you could help with that?’

‘If yer want. Just be quick and leave me in peace.’

Kim was tempted to show him the photos on her phone but just in time remembered a valuable piece of advice offered to her by Woody. If you can’t play nice ... let Bryant do it.

Connop’s skin was a roadmap of burst capillaries and bore the pallor of lifelong drinking. The whites of his eyes had submitted to the colour of jaundice. His facial hair was white and days old. The wrinkles in his forehead did not revert to a resting position and judging by their depth she guessed this guy had been born pissed off.

He used both hands to hold the cob together as he raised it to his mouth, chewing noisily.

Clearly one to multitask, he spoke at the same time. ‘Go on, ask yer questions and fuck off.’

Kim chose to look away as his mouth macerated the food into a mixture of mashed-up cheese and bread.

‘What can you tell us about Teresa Wyatt?’

He took a gulp of beer to wash down the sandwich.

He wrinkled his nose. ‘A bit up herself and hoity-toity but she day really interfere. She never spoke to the likes of me. Any jobs was writ on the board and I just gor on with ‘em.’

‘What was her relationship like with the girls?’

‘She didn't really ‘ave a lot to with ‘em. Day to day she wasn't too involved. To be honest, I think it woulda been the same to her if the place was filled with a load of farm animals. Had a bit of a temper from what I heard but other than that there ain't nothing I can tell yer.’

‘How about Richard Croft?’

‘Fucking wanker,’ he said, taking another bite.

‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Not really. If he’s still alive when yer get to him, you'll see what I mean.’

‘Did he have much involvement with the girls?’

‘You're kiddin ain't yer? He didn't come out of his office long enough to spake to any of ‘em. And they all knew better than to bother him. His job was budgets and stuff. Talked a lot about marking benches and performance intimators or some other shit.’

Kim guessed he meant benchmarking and performance indicators, both of which would have meant nothing to the handy man.

Arthur tapped his nose. ‘Always dressed above his station, that one.’

‘You mean he wore nice clothes?’

‘I mean he wore nice everything. Suits, shirts, shoes, ties. He weren't buying that on the salary of a civil servant.’

‘Is that why you didn't like him?’ Kim asked.

Arthur grunted. ‘I didn't like him for a million reasons but that weren't one of ‘em.’ His face creased in distaste. ‘Slimy, nasty bastard. Superior and secretive and ...’

‘About what?’ Bryant asked.

Arthur shrugged. ‘I don't know. But why a man would need two computers on his desk is beyond me. And he'd always pull down the lid of the small one when I went in. Dunno why. It ain't like I could've understood it.’

‘Did you know Tom Curtis?’

Arthur nodded as the last of the cob was ground up in his mouth. ‘He weren't a bad lad. Young and good looking. He had more to do with them girls than anybody. Do ‘em a sarnie if they’d missed tea, that kinda thing. He put a brave face on it.’