“Yep. An old Ford Escort registered to him at a different address.”

“Naughty boy. Something else we can fling at him. Okay, at least we can try and place him at the scenes for further evidence. Let’s see what else we can throw at him.”

“Yes, boss,” the team replied in unison.

“Coffee, Jack? We’ll stay up here for half an hour or so, give him a chance to get worked up about what’s going on.”

“Why not? I’ll get these, boss, as you forked out for lunch.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll be in the office, preparing my questions for the suspect. Hey, is everyone up for a celebratory drink after work?”

Every member of the team either nodded or gave her the thumbs-up in reply.

At five thirty, Sally and Jack made their way back downstairs. “Has the brief turned up, Sergeant?”

“Yes, she’s waiting in Interview Room Two, Inspector.”

“Thanks. Leave it five minutes and then bring the prisoner in, will you?”

“Yes, boss. When you went upstairs, he put up a bit of a struggle, and one of the constables ended up elbowing him in the eye by mistake. So don’t be surprised if he’s sporting a shiner when you see him.”

Sally shook her head but smiled at the sergeant. “Shit happens!”

Jack sniggered. “I almost did the same thing myself back at the B&B, Sergeant.”

Sally walked along the corridor to where the appointed solicitor was waiting for them. She introduced herself and Jack to the woman then sat down opposite.

“Hello, Inspector. Is my client about to join us?”

“He is, Miss Cornwell. He should be with us any time soon. You’re aware of the charge brought against him, I believe.”

“I am. I hope you haven’t picked him up just because he has a past record for a similar offence, Inspector?”

“No. That would be totally unprofessional. We picked him up through the DNA we recovered at the first scene.”

“I see.”

The door opened, interrupting their conversation, and in walked Les Dorling, sporting a discoloured right eye, which Sally feared was only going to intensify in colour during their questioning.

“Take a seat, Mr. Dorling.” Sally noted the shocked expression on the solicitor’s face and asked, “Has the doctor seen you?”

“Not yet. He’s busy, so they tell me. I’m going to sue you for this. Mark my words, I will.” He turned to his solicitor and pointed at his eye. “They did this to me when I came in. I want compo, right?”

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Dorling. I’ll see what I can do for you. Did you resist arrest or come to the station willingly?” Miss Cornwell asked her client.

“I might have had a little tussle out there, but there was no call for them to give me this.” Dorling pointed to his eye again.

“Okay, let’s begin.” Sally said the necessary blurb into the tape to begin the interview then asked the suspect, “Mr. Dorling, where were you on Sunday night of last week? That would be the eighth of March.”

Dorling shrugged. “How the fuck should I know?”

“That’s not helpful to your case. Try harder,” Sally suggested.

Dorling scratched his head and seemed pensive for a moment or two. “At home, if you can call that shithole a home.”

“So, you were at the B&B all night? Can anyone confirm that?”

Dorling shrugged again. “I have no idea.”

“Can you remember talking to anyone that night?” Sally asked.

“Lady, I’ve got no idea. Once I’m in my room, that’s it.”

“Okay, and when you’re not in your room? What are you doing then?”

“I’ve got a part-time job valeting cars.” He looked up at Sally and sneered. “It’s the only job I can get since your lot banged me up.”

“So, the fact that you were convicted of rape had nothing to do with your imprisonment, then?”

Dorling fidgeted in his seat. “Like I told the judge, me and that bitch had consensual sex. Juries always come down heavy on the guys. They always believe the bitches when they lie about spreading their legs.”

“Mr. Dorling, we’re not here to go over your previous convictions. That has already been successfully dealt with, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Has it, though? Aren’t you here accusing me of doing something to this woman only because of what’s gone on in my past?” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Not exactly, no. And as I told you back at the B&B, this woman, Brenda Fisher, was murdered.”

“And I told you that I have no idea who she is. It didn’t stop you dragging me in here and beating me up. I ain’t no murderer, lady.” Defiance blazed in his large, brown eyes.

“You see, this is where experience tells us that people who commit heinous crimes like rape often come out of prison feeling as though they’ve been misjudged and go on a mission to punish yet more women. Even killing them in some cases.”

He lunged forward in his chair. “Not me. For a start, I never effing raped the girl I was convicted of anyway.”

“You can protest all you like; the evidence clearly convicted you on that case.”

“Of course your lot have never arrested and convicted the wrong person, ever, have you? Jeez, why can’t you fuckers leave me alone? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Less of the language, buster,” Jack warned. “Play nice with us, and we’ll play fairly with you.”

Dorling bared his teeth and pointed at his black eye. “Effing looks that way, don’t it?”

“Okay, this isn’t getting us anywhere. So, you’re insisting that you were alone in your room on Sunday the eighth. My next question is where were you the following night?”

“What? How the fuck should I know?” Dorling turned to his solicitor and frowned. “Do you know what’s going on here? Can they keep asking me questions without having proof that I was at the scene?”

Miss Cornwell smiled briefly at her client. “Just answer their questions.”

“Some effing help you are.” He grunted in complaint.

The brief ignored his angry comment and stared at her notebook, pen poised to make notes again.

“Here’s the thing—we do have proof that you were at the scene.” Sally smiled at the suspect, but she knew it never reached her eyes.

“And I’m telling you, you can’t have. Jesus, how many times do I have to repeat myself?”

“Going back to last week. Where were you on Monday night? That would be the ninth of March.”

“And I’ll give you the same answer—back in my room at the B&B, not that you’re going to believe me. Why? What am I supposed to have done wrong on that day? Go on, effing surprise me?”

“Well… we discovered another body of a woman in the near vicinity to Brenda Fisher’s body. Do you know anything about that victim?”

Dorling ground his teeth, his eyes widening, before he found the words to deny any wrongdoing. “No. I know nothing. Is this some kind of effing wind-up? Should I be looking for a hidden camera somewhere?”

“No, Mr. Dorling, this is no joke. I’m being serious. Yet another body was found the night after Brenda Fisher was murdered, and here’s the interesting thing, the second victim also had a present left on her body.”

“Which was?”

“We’ve yet to get this verified, but it would appear to be your DNA again.”

“What? It can’t be!” Dorling objected irately.

“I must interject there, Inspector. By the sounds of things, you’re assuming that to be the case. Without factual evidence you cannot put the blame on my client.”

“You’re right, Miss Cornwell. I think it will only be a matter of hours before the lab confirms our suspicions, though. So I thought I’d pre-empt that and ask anyway, while we have the suspect here on another charge.”

The solicitor gave Sally another warning glance then looked down at her notebook.

Dorling picked up where his solicitor left off. “I refuse to answer, in that case.”

“Like I say, it’s only a matter of time, Dorling. Now, do you want to change your story about Brenda Fisher? Did she turn you down at the pub? Is that it?”