“Christ, don’t you listen, woman? I don’t know this wench. I never left my gaff that night, as far as I can remember. As for going down the boozer, I bloody wish! I can’t afford that kind of luxury living on minimum wage and forking out for B&B accommodation. Have you any idea how much that sets me back a week? One hundred and thirty quid—that’s what! On top of that, I’m expected to find money for food.”

“If you can’t afford where you live, why did you go to a B&B instead of staying at a hostel?”

“Doh, ‘cause there was no room at the inn.”

“I see. We’re veering off track here. I’m sorry about your circumstances, but that really has nothing to do with me trying to solve this case. At the moment, you are our prime suspect in at least one murder. We’re awaiting results on two other murders. They should be with us in the next day or two.”

Dorling’s head jerked as he looked at the three people around the table, shock emanating from him in sonic waves. “What? No way! No way are you effing blaming me for three bloody murders. You can’t do that!” He turned to his solicitor and grabbed her arm. “Tell them. They can’t pin one bloody murder on me, let alone three. Tell them!”

His brief stared down at his hand until Dorling finally released his grip. “The inspector has said they’re awaiting the results from the other cases. If you know anything about the first victim, you should tell the inspector.”

“I don’t! I’m innocent. How many times do I have to say that?”

Sally could tell that Dorling was becoming angrier with every passing second. She nudged her partner with her leg; it was a code they’d devised between them. Jack knew to be on his guard in case the suspect struck out at anyone. Jack nudged her in return and pushed his chair back a little so that he was ready to pounce on the suspect if the need arose.

“Calm down, Dorling. We have the proof. All you need to tell us is what went on that evening.”

He vehemently shook his head. “Nothing. Because I wasn’t effing there. Here’s a fact that you need to listen to, Inspector. I haven’t been near a woman since I got out of prison. Why the fuck would I? You lay one hand on the bitches nowadays, and they shout rape. What’s the frigging point when a wank is more preferable and less trouble?”

Sally raised an eyebrow at the gross image he’d conjured up. But she saw a smattering of truth in what the man was saying. Something in her gut told her that he was telling the truth. But the evidence? Her inner voice objected. Thinking that they were getting nowhere fast, she asked the suspect her final question.

“Last chance, Mr. Dorling. When did you meet Brenda Fisher, on the night of March the eighth?”

His lips pulled into a thin line, and he shook his head, refusing to answer her question.

“Okay. I’m drawing this interview to a close. You’ve had your chance. You’ll be shipped out to a remand centre and appear before a judge in the next few days. By that time, the other DNA results should be with us, and we can see about adding those murder charges to the offence already brought against you.”

“Whatever! What’s the point in me trying to deny anything? There’s no point, is there?”

“Without an alibi, it looks to me like you’re up the creek.” Sally agreed, a tinge of guilt pricking her conscience when she recognised defeat in his words. She looked over at the constable standing in the corner of the room. “Take him back to his cell and make him comfortable for the night.”

After the suspect was escorted from the room, Jack went ahead to the incident room to update the team on what the suspect had told them, which was very little.

The solicitor took her time packing away her notebook. She glanced up at Sally. “When are the other results likely?”

“Within a day or two. I have to tell you that semen was found on all three bodies.”

“You don’t think it could be a case of a copycat murder going on here? My client seemed adamant that he was nowhere near the scene or had ever met this Brenda Fisher, Inspector.”

“Not possible. Copycat killings only happen once the knowledge of a crime has been circulated through the media. That isn’t the case here. We’ve held off going down that route because we wanted the DNA results verified first. I’m going to put out a plea to the public once we receive the other results. If—and it’s a very big if—Dorling is innocent, then the TV pleas should give us some other clues to follow up on.”

“I understand. Will you let me know once the results come back?” The solicitor handed Sally her business card.

“Of course. Thanks for attending today.”

Sally showed the woman the way out then slowly walked back upstairs to the incident room.

“Right, I need to action the forensic team to examine Dorling’s room at the B&B and his car, then I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready for a well-deserved drink. Let’s wind things up and go to the Four Feathers, eh?”

“Sounds good to me,” Jack replied. The rest of the team nodded then tidied up their desks and switched off their computers.

“I’ll join you in a couple of minutes. I have a few things needing my attention before I call it a day.”

Jack chuckled. “In other words, folks, get the beers in before I get there.”

Sally narrowed her eyes at him. “Wait there.” She walked into her office and dipped her hand in her bag for her purse. She removed a fifty pound note, left her office and handed to Jack. “There. Wouldn’t want you being out of pocket, would we, Jack?” She turned back to her office, and mumbled loud enough for the team to hear, “Wouldn’t want your arse squeaking any louder than it does already.”

She heard the team laugh, and she struck an imaginary finger in the air, imagining her partner’s glare aimed at her retreating frame.

CHAPTER NINE

Sally spent the next hour celebrating Dorling’s arrest with the team. Feeling reservations on her part, she headed for home after consuming one glass of white wine. The team remained at the pub, engrossed in their jubilation of yet another case completed successfully. Sally pulled into the parking space at her flat then walked the hundred yards or so to her door. She stopped dead when she rounded the corner and saw the front door of her flat. Damn! Darryl. What the hell does he want?

Her ex-husband was banging on the door with his clenched fist, shouting out her name, and demanding to be let in. Two thoughts crossed her mind: either ring for backup and get him arrested for disturbing the peace or usher him into the flat before her neighbours got pissed off and called the police themselves.

Not wanting to feel uncomfortable with her new neighbours, Sally sucked in a large breath and approached her ex-husband. “Darryl? What are you doing here?”

He swayed a little when he turned to look at her, obviously drunk. “There you are. Sally, my darling wife! Come ‘ere.” He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away.

“I asked you what you’re doing here, Darryl?”

“I’ve come to see you. What a silly question, dearest,” he slurred, his voice rising. His eyes screwed up as he tried to focus on her.

Reluctantly, she pushed him through the front door ahead of her, glancing over her shoulder to see if any of her neighbours had come out to investigate the noise. Luckily, none of the neighbours had stirred.

Once she was inside, the old feelings of wariness she’d thought were buried suddenly resurfaced. She herded Darryl into the small living room then rushed past him into the tiny kitchen to put the kettle on. She knew that the only solution when he was in this state was to force gallons of black coffee down his neck. She returned to the living room to find him swaying in the centre of the room, repositioning his feet every few seconds as he surveyed all four corners of the living room. “This is shit.”