The jail was based just outside of the centre of the city, only a few hundred yards away from the main indoor arena where gigs, boxing matches and comedy shows took place. In a recently designed city, its location would be odd given it was so central but it was nearly a century and a half old and, at least in terms of where it was placed, belonged to another age.

McKenna’s record was extensive and perhaps the only thing he had going for him was that he hadn’t actually murdered anyone yet – or at least hadn’t been convicted of anything quite that serious. He did have quite the record though. He was fifty-two years old and had spent almost twenty years of his life in prison for various offences. The crime he was currently residing at Her Majesty’s pleasure for was an armed robbery four years ago. He and another career criminal had held up a post office with sawn-off shotguns and escaped with a few thousand pounds. The money had been tracked back to them after they started spending it and both had been given life sentences. From reading his record it seemed pretty clear he was a thug but he didn’t seem like a criminal mastermind to Jessica.

She gave Cole the rundown as he drove. ‘What else has he got?’ the inspector asked.

‘Burglary when he was a teenager, a couple of serious assaults, threatening behaviour, a few drunk and disorderlies. Some thefts and a few other bits and pieces.’

‘No drugs?’

‘Surprisingly not.’

They parked at the prison and made their way into the front office where they would be frisked and have to go through the metal detectors. The man working in the area seemed overly keen to make friends. He introduced himself as Dennis and shook both of their hands. The name strip on his jumper read ‘Doherty’.

‘The governor is coming down to take you through,’ he said, indicating some seats. ‘You can sit there. He should only be a few minutes.’

Jessica thought Dennis Doherty was a slightly odd man. He had a scar across the left side of his face running from his jaw to his ear but it wasn’t that which made him stand out. She couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t that she regularly hung around prisons but, from her experience, a lot of the people who worked in places like this were overly officious and distant for obvious reasons. Dennis checked their credentials, as would have been expected, but then sat next to them and made small talk.

He was the person who had taken Jessica’s call that morning and apologised for not passing her on quicker. ‘I couldn’t really understand what you were asking,’ he said.

‘No worries,’ Jessica replied, trying not to get into a conversation with him.

The phone rang at the other end of reception and Dennis went back to take the call.

‘I reckon you’ve got an admirer there,’ Cole said with a smile, nodding towards the man’s back.

Jessica shook her head. ‘Blimey, it’s all downhill from here if that’s the case. He’s old enough to be my dad.’ She figured it really was time to re-evaluate her life if the harmless flirting of an older man was enough to get the alarm bells ringing. In the old days, she’d have told him where to go.

Soon enough a man she assumed was the governor breezed in through the back door. Dennis had turned around at the sound of the door but the entrant nodded to him, making his way straight towards Jessica and Cole.

They both stood up to acknowledge him and he offered his hand for them to shake. ‘Good afternoon. I’m Christopher Gallagher, the governor here.’

He was a thick-set man somewhere around six feet tall with white swept-back hair and a tightly cropped beard of the same colour. He looked as if he were approaching retirement age and was wearing a light grey suit that was struggling to hold in his bulging stomach. They both shook his hand and DI Cole introduced the pair of them.

‘I’m not sure I’m clear why you’re here,’ the governor said. ‘I know you want to talk to one of our inmates in relation to a current investigation . . .’ He was obviously fishing for information. They weren’t obliged to tell him any more than that. Given the bizarre nature of the crime, they had agreed that no other details should be given to him at that point. They couldn’t really storm into the prison accusing the governor of being negligent in letting a prisoner escape, especially when the inmate was apparently sitting in his cell.

‘That’s correct,’ said Cole, without elaborating any further.

The governor waited for a few moments, obviously wanting to be told more but it was pretty clear DI Cole wasn’t going to give him extra details. There was an awkward silence broken by the clearly peeved prison boss. ‘Right, well, if you want to follow me this way . . .’

HMP Manchester had been almost completely rebuilt and renamed after a riot in 1990. The locals still called it Strangeways but the older Victorian buildings had either been knocked down as part of the construction or seriously damaged by fire during the protests. Jessica had visited a few prisons and, even though this was for the more serious offenders, its conditions were far better than some of the other places she had seen.

Most prisons had their own interview rooms for situations exactly like this. Sometimes officers would speak to prisoners in the regular visiting room but that only occurred if they weren’t suspected directly of a new crime. The governor brought them across a yard and through lots of sets of locking doors. He didn’t say a word throughout the entire journey, leading them down a host of identical-looking murky yellow corridors and up a flight of steel stairs before stopping outside a heavy metal door and holding it open for them. ‘We’ve set some recording equipment up for you.’

It was hard to label Donald McKenna as a full suspect given the fact he was incarcerated. But, assuming the second test came back as the first had done, his DNA had been found at a murder scene, which would take some explaining. As such, he would be cautioned and the interview would have to be recorded.

The two officers entered the room. ‘This is nicer than our place,’ Jessica said after the governor had left them alone, referring to Longsight station’s own interview room.

Cole started making sure the equipment was working correctly. The recording decks seemed to be newer and more reliable than the equipment they had back at the station.

The inspector finished getting things ready and they both sat in silence waiting for their prisoner to arrive. A few minutes later, the door opened again and a man in a suit followed by another male in handcuffs entered. Jessica could see prison guards hovering around the door as it was shut behind them.

The suited man introduced himself as Donald McKenna’s solicitor. Jessica vaguely recognised his face but couldn’t place where from. A lot of people’s features from the legal profession’s defence and duty teams blended into one when you saw them so regularly. McKenna was dressed in regular prison attire. He had dark trainers, dark tracksuit bottoms and a sweatshirt which looked as if it were being worn over a T-shirt. Jessica thought he was in pretty decent shape for a man in his fifties. Like most inmates, his dark hair was cut short and he definitely looked younger than he was. He must work out, given the way his muscled shoulders were stretching his top.

Jessica was pretty good at judging how a suspect would react in an interview by the way they held themselves when they first sat in front of her. Some would try to be intimidating, especially as she was female. They would lean forwards and glare at her, almost inviting her to make them angry. A lot of the younger ones, the cocky gang members who still thought being arrested was cool, would slouch back in their seat, legs splayed wide and stare at the floor answering ‘no comment’ to every question. Every now and then, you would get someone who was genuinely scared, either because they were innocent or because they were guilty but terrified of what might happen to them. They would often fidget in the seat, looking to their solicitor for advice and talk far too quickly.