‘And?’

‘It seems that during his time there – those two years between 1998 and 2000 – Gleason was very much a loner. Of course, he was confined to his cell for most of the day, but when he was allowed out he didn’t seek company. It seems, from what I can gather, that most of the other prisoners were afraid of him. One of them, a,’ he looked down to consult his notebook, ‘a man called Lee James – who by the way was one tough guy – described Gleason as pure evil. I asked him how he knew this and he said that he could just sense it. Bear in mind that James had spent most of his adult life in prison – he was a serial rapist – but even he said he was afraid of Gleason. Said there was something about his eyes, like he was looking into the face of something that was not human.’

‘And what about these other men? Garrison? Lomax? Federline? Hornbeck and Tomlin? By the way, Helen, they’ve all been located now, haven’t they?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘Officers have been sent out to bring them in. I’ll let you know when they are in custody.’

‘Thanks, Helen. Lansing, about Gleason and his fellow inmates.’

‘I asked around and everyone told me the same thing. Gleason did not talk to anyone. He made it his business not to make friends, or acquaintances even. Jim Abend, the governor, reiterated this. I asked him about what James had said – about Gleason being the embodiment of evil – but he dismissed it. ‘Nine out of ten of the men in my prison are evil,’ he said. ‘What other word can you use to describe their behaviour?’ He then called in one of the guards, Henry Dean, who has been working at the prison for the last 15 years. Dean told me that Gleason did not speak a word to him during the two years he was there. Not a good morning or a goodnight. And he never saw him talking to any of the other prisoners, including the five men on our list.’

‘Did he get any visitors? Letters? Packages?’

‘According to the records no-one came to see him during his time there. He received no letters and no packages. And as far as drugs are concerned he was clean, apparently.’

‘And his death?’ asked Jennifer Curtis. ‘They are sure it was a suicide?’

‘The governor seems certain,’ he said, turning towards her. ‘It was Dean who found him. He went to unlock Gleason’s cell early on the morning of July 7 2000 and walked in to find it dripping with blood. Using a razor blade, Gleason had cut his wrists and the carotid artery in the neck, which explains the mess. On one of the walls, above his bed, he had started to scrawl the words NO REGRETS. But by the time he had gotten to the second R he must have lost consciousness.’

‘Jesus,’ mumbled Curtis under her breath.

‘There was, of course, an inquiry after the death, but they couldn’t trace how the razor blade got into the prison. They interviewed their inmates but nobody owned up. Why would they? My impression is that the prisoners were pleased Gleason had killed himself. For whatever reason he freaked them out.’

‘And there was no indication he was about to do it?’ asked Curtis.

‘No, nothing out of the ordinary. He didn’t give any clues or leave anything behind to explain his actions apart from that half-completed scrawl written in his blood.’

‘And the funeral?’ asked Harper.

‘It was arranged by the Evergreen Group, a bereavement home often used by the prison. After the post-mortem Gleason’s body was released and he was cremated on July 17. I checked with the funeral home about who attended. Apart from those who were there in an official capacity – Dean, and a couple of other prison employees, and the staff of Evergreen – there was only one other guest. Ryan, Gleason’s son.’

‘Who’d never visited him in prison?’ It was Harper again.

‘Apparently not. Dean told me that at the cremation Ryan was besides himself. Sobbing. A real wreck. Felt guilty that he’d never been to see his dad, he said. Dean heard that Ryan was never the same again. Took to drink and drugs in a big way. Which I suppose explains his death. I spoke to the sergeant up in Riverside County who was called to the scene. It seems Ryan drove his truck off a deserted road in the mountainous terrain somewhere between Moreno Valley and Banning, and into a 300-foot-deep canyon. When the post-mortem was done his body contained a high level of alcohol. So it seems like -’

‘Gleason not only destroyed the lives of his victims,’ interrupted Helen, in a bid to make herself heard. ‘He fucked over his children too. I spoke to Roberta this morning again. I could tell she was trying to hold it together, but since her visit from Dr Cramer and –‘

‘Excuse me?’ said Harper.

‘You know you asked me to check in on her. Well, I –‘

‘Yes, but you said she had been paid a visit by K – Cramer?’

‘Yes, along with Cassie Veringer. I thought you must have known about it.’

Harper did not say anything. Anger burned inside him, but he couldn’t let his team witness how he was feeling. He would have to talk to Kate later. What the fuck did she think she was doing? She’d always been like this. Curious to the point where sometimes it became a danger to herself. And what was she thinking dragging poor Cassie along, as if she hadn’t enough problems to deal with besides being forced to introduce herself to the daughter of the man who had almost killed her. He bit the inside of his cheek and tasted blood.

He looked over to a handsome man in his mid-thirties with silver wire framed glasses and thinning brown hair.

‘Reeves, what’s the latest with the forensic reports?’

‘Fibres have been examined. DNA has been tested. Everything has been fingerprinted. But all the different analyses point to one thing – an absence of forensics.’

‘You can’t be telling me you found nothing? Still?’ Harper’s voice began to rise. He was still angry with what Kate had done. ‘I can’t believe it. There was no forensic evidence whatsoever?’

‘Obviously there was forensic evidence – hairs, skin, blood, bodily fluids and so on – but only so far as it matches the individuals already mentioned. For instance, from under the fingernails of Sara-Jane we found some skin that matched the DNA of her parents. In Dr Cramer’s house we found some hairs from Sara-Jane. In Cassie Veringer’s apartment we found her blood, her skin, and in Jordan Weislander’s home there was –‘

‘I get the picture,’ Harper said. ‘So you think whoever is behind this sick game knows what they are doing?’

‘In my professional opinion, yes. He – or she – has taken a number of precautionary measures to prevent us picking up on their DNA or anything that may link them to –‘

‘Sorry to interrupt, Reeves,’ said Helen, quickly looking up from her computer screen, ‘but I’ve just been sent some information that could relate to the digits sent to Cassie Veringer.’