‘Shit.’

A third marked car pulled in behind them which would be bringing Cole and more uniformed officers. Jessica eyed the property. It was much the same as Yvonne Christensen’s, a standard semi-detached house with strong imposing double-glazed doors and windows. The front garden was immaculate, surrounded by a small fountain and pond with lush trimmed grass. The Keegans were clearly very house-proud. Even the surrounding hedges were cut neatly, in stark contrast to some of the other properties on the street. Jessica walked down the path to the house and opened the letterbox. There were thick black bristles on the inside obstructing any view she might have. She used her fingers to try to push them aside but could see nothing. She next went to the bay window to the right of the front door and used her hands to shield her eyes from the glare to peer through. A thick net curtain meant she could see nothing of note.

Within a moment of calling Mary Keegan’s phone again, Jessica could hear a muffled ringtone coming from the inside of the house. She leant with her forehead on the cool glass of the window and hung up.

She knew what they were going to find inside.

Jessica heard a vehicle screeching from somewhere nearby and moments later a large silver car pulled up in front of all three police cars. She saw a man quickly get out from the driver’s side and run along the pathway towards her. ‘Mr Keegan?’ she said.

‘Yes. What’s wrong?’

Jessica ignored the immediate question. ‘Do you have your house keys with you?’

The man was wearing black suit trousers and a white shirt with a blue criss-cross pattern. He was somewhere in his fifties and a few inches taller than Jessica, unshaven with carefully combed dark hair that was greying around his ears. He put his right hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out a key ring. ‘Here. What’s going on?’

‘Do you mind if I borrow them for a moment?’

The man handed them to her and repeated, ‘What’s happening?’

Jessica said nothing but nodded to Cole and the waiting officers at the end of the path. Cole stood next to Mr Keegan as Jessica pulled a pair of thin blue rubber gloves out of her pocket. She put the key in the front door’s lock and turned it.

‘Mrs Keegan?’ she called as she entered with two uniformed officers following behind. There was no answer.

The door opened into what looked like a living room with a set of stairs immediately on her left. The room was spotlessly tidy with a neat pile of mail on top of a small table immediately on her right. At the other end of the room was a door that Jessica motioned the two officers towards as she went upstairs.

The stairs were made of wood, each one creaking noisily as she stepped on it. It was one flight to the top, which opened onto a hallway with three doors to choose from, two on her right and one straight ahead. She opened the door in front of her that led into a bathroom. As with the rest of the house, everything was immaculate, the white bath and shower cabinet gleaming as sunlight came through a small window. There was nothing else to see.

The next door opened into a bedroom. Posters of footballers and girls in bikinis were on the walls but the bunk beds directly across from the door were made in pristine fashion, the corners tucked and the blue duvets perfectly central. There were a few action figures on cabinets and dressers around the room but otherwise it was as tidy as the other rooms. Jessica wondered if this was Scott’s room. Was this where he returned to after torturing Nigel Collins? She pulled the door shut, the bottom of the wood rubbing on the carpet as she heard one of the policemen’s voices from downstairs. ‘Clear here.’

One more door and she would be able to say the same. Jessica rested her hand on the final handle, held her breath and closed her eyes. She pulled it down and pushed the door open, forcing it against the bristle of the carpet. She breathed out and opened her eyes. ‘No . . .’

On the bed was a woman’s body face-down. Aside from the room’s colours the scene was almost identical to what Jessica had witnessed at Claire Hogan’s flat. Instead of a sprawl of bleach-blonde hair discoloured by dark blood spread across the bed sheets, Jessica could see long dark brown hair splayed out in a similar way. The yellow curtains were drawn and the room dim but Jessica could see the matching double-bed linen was stained by blood.

Jessica didn’t need to see any more; four dead bodies were enough. She turned around and pulled the gloves off her hands, walking down the stairs back to the front door. The other two officers were standing in the living room, both looking at her.

‘Don’t go up,’ she said, before adding, ‘Someone call the Scene of Crime team.’

Jessica took it upon herself to tell Paul Keegan there was a dead body upstairs on their bed, likely his wife. She spoke slowly and gently but the man could only stare at her with his mouth open.

In any other circumstance his response ‘Are you sure?’ would have been ridiculous. In this one it was heartbreaking. Jessica could tell from the tone of his voice that he loved his wife enormously. Some people would have wanted to run past her into the house, race up the stairs and see for themselves. Paul Keegan didn’t move from the spot on his front lawn. Jessica saw tears in his eyes and reached out to put an arm on his shoulder, before fully embracing him and letting the man cry on her shoulder.

After a few moments, he pulled away and tried to straighten his shirt. He wiped his eyes but the tears hadn’t really stopped. ‘Was it him?’ he asked.

‘Who?’

‘Houdini.’

Back at the station things had been moving quickly. Jessica hadn’t given Paul Keegan a yes or a no answer. Although it seemed likely, they weren’t absolutely certain and they now knew Houdini was most likely Nigel Collins.

Paul Keegan hadn’t wanted to go into the house but had agreed to an identification at the scene. It seemed harsh but for completeness’ sake it was better being done there, rather than finding out a few hours later his wife was alive and well and some other dead body had been dumped in his house. He had clearly been upset at the brief look but had willingly come with them to the station for interview. Grief did odd things to people. Some reacted like Sandra Prince and were unable to communicate. For others, like Paul Keegan, it seemed to have the opposite effect, driving them to remember things they might not normally and to think with a level-headedness they might not usually have.

Jessica had a dilemma in whether to reveal his stepson Scott could in fact be indirectly responsible for what had happened. It didn’t seem fair to add more grief quite so quickly. She had established that Scott was now at university in Liverpool, about to finish his first year studying forensic science.

‘His mum was so proud of him for turning things around,’ Paul Keegan said. ‘He used to be a bit of a tearaway before we got together. I think he had issues with his dad.’

Jessica thought he didn’t know the half of it, while the irony of Scott learning about how to deconstruct a body given what Shaun Hogan said he had done wasn’t lost on her either. Another constable took notes as Paul Keegan spoke but Jessica said nothing about Scott. There was an older stepson too, Steven, who was just about to take his final accounting exam at Keele University. They were both due to return home in the next fortnight for the summer break.

Mary’s husband spoke clearly and simply, explaining that his wife was a nurse and had been working late shifts that week, starting at ten at night and finishing at six in the morning. She would arrive home as he was waking up to get ready to go to his own job with the council for eight. They usually shared a cup of tea together, swapping notes on the previous twenty-four hours before he went off to work and she went to bed.