“No.”

Sally raised an eyebrow. “Why do I sense that there is something you aren’t telling me?”

“Like what?” His eyes drifted off to the left.

“I don’t know. You tell me. You venture out for the evening with your girlfriend and end up going to the nightclub with a group of lads. Where did Tracy go?”

He shrugged again. “If you must know, I dumped her halfway through the evening.”

“What? Why?”

“That’s my business, not yours.”

Sally’s eyes narrowed into a warning glare. “Less of the crappy attitude, Hartman. What transpired with Tracy?”

“She left the pub about thirty minutes before us. What’s the frigging problem? Couples fall out all the time. Is that an arrestable offence? I got bored with her.”

“Bored enough to kill her?” Sally shot back at him.

His gaze drifted between Sally and Jack as his brow furrowed deeply. “Of course not, what a dumb bloody question.”

“Guilty as charged! I tend to ask a stream of dumb questions during a murder enquiry. It’s usually how I obtain the truth.”

“What murder enqu…” Panic appeared in his eyes as the realisation dawned. “You’re kidding me! She’s dead?”

Sally nodded and folded her arms. “Yes. And as you were the last known person to see her alive, the onus is on you to tell us why we shouldn’t arrest you for her murder. After all, you wouldn’t be the first boyfriend to ‘get bored’ with his girlfriend and kill her.”

Hartman took a step towards Sally, a menacing look in his eye, as if he meant to strike her, but Jack jumped in between him and Sally. “Not advisable, pal. You’re in enough trouble already.”

“For what? I didn’t kill her.” He seemed confused one minute and annoyed the next. His hand scratched at the stubble covering his chin, and he turned his back on them. “I swear. Anyway, I have a bunch of witnesses who’ll vouch for me.”

“Ah, your loyal friends. Yes, don’t worry, we’ll be questioning them all. Maybe they were all there at the scene. Someone is sure to slip up. The truth usually comes out in the end.”

“Get lost. I’m innocent. Jesus, what a way to bloody tell me my girlfriend is dead. You’re sick.”

Sally grunted. “I’ve been called far worse, I can assure you. Sorry to correct you, but I think you’ll find that Tracy was your former girlfriend, which means that our interest in you went up several notches. Now, here’s how we are going to deal with this: first, you’re going to accompany us to the station to give us a full statement. After you’ll give us a list of the friends you were out with last night. Then, depending on how much you cooperate with our investigation, we’ll either let you go or charge you with your girlfriend’s murder.”

He shook his head vehemently. “I ain’t done nothing. How many more times do I have to tell you? She left the pub before we did, ages before we headed for the nightclub. I never saw her after she left. I swear.”

“So you said. Okay, did you see anyone suspicious hanging around the bar? Is the pub a regular haunt of yours?” Sally asked.

“Yes. I don’t know about anyone suspicious lurking. I was having too much of a good time to notice.”

“What? Dumping your girlfriend?” Sally asked, her temper rising.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I know nothing of the sort. From now, I think it would be sensible of you to choose your words more carefully.”

“Okay. I didn’t notice anyone, either inside the pub or outside. My mind was on other things. How’s that?” he said, his response dripping with sarcasm.

“It’ll do for starters. Well, would Tracy be likely to go off with a stranger?”

His lip curled up at the side, and his right shoulder hitched a little. “How the hell should I know? You women are a law unto yourselves most of the time. There’s no point us men trying to fathom you out.”

“Oh, right! And you men are so easy to read, of course. Let’s not go down the battle-of-the-sexes route, shall we? I’m asking you to really think. Close your eyes and cast your mind back to yesterday evening.” Hartman did as she requested. “Now, can you see anyone sitting in the pub, either at the bar or at a table? Alone perhaps?” Sally often referred to the training course on cognitive thinking she’d attended a few years back when someone had trouble recalling.

Slowly, he nodded. “Yes! There’s a man at the bar.”

“Keep your eyes closed. Can you describe him?”

“Not his height obviously, because he’s sitting down. Quite broad, not fat, mousy brown hair.”

“Long or short?”

“About my length, I guess.”

“Okay, open your eyes. Do you remember that man leaving the pub?”

“Can’t say I do. Come to think of it, he did keep looking over at me and Tracy when we were… er… arguing. I just assumed it was because we were shouting at each other. By the way, she always gave as good as she got. How did she die?”

Sally skirted the man’s question. “So if we go back to the pub, perhaps the barmaid would know this man?”

“Couldn’t tell you. Depends how observant she was, I guess. Did Tracy suffer at all?”

“Let’s put it this way, anyone who is killed, I’d suggest their suffering rate would be at the max, wouldn’t you?”

“I was only asking. Mind if I get back to work now?”

“Okay, I’m satisfied with what you have told me, but I still need you and your friends to come down the station later today to give us a formal statement. Can I count on you showing up?”

“Does this mean that I’m no longer regarded as a suspect?”

Sally smiled tautly. “Did I ever say you were a suspect?”

He glared at her. “I’ll be there. Can we all show up together?”

“Why not? As long as we get the facts, why should I care? Can I ask you to sit down with one of our sketch artists, too?”

“If I must. Not sure I’ll be any good at sharing any further details with you about the man, though. I’m willing to do anything I can to help catch the sick shit, because whether you believe me or not, Inspector, I did care about Tracy. I no longer wanted to be her boyfriend, but she didn’t deserve to die.”

“On that, we agree. One last question. I know her parents are incapacitated, shall we say. Do you know if she had any other relatives close by? Only we’ll need someone to identify the body and make the arrangements for her funeral.”

“Shit! I don’t think there was anyone.”

Sally tutted; she couldn’t believe she was about to ask the question teetering on her tongue. “Would you be willing to ID her?”

“Me?” His hand slapped against his chest. “Crap, do I have to?”

“No, but if I asked you nicely, would you do it? I hate the thought of her being stuck in the mortuary as a Jane Doe.”

After a few seconds of thinking, he reluctantly agreed, “Okay. When?”

“We’ll ring you. I’ll let the pathologist know. That’s a big help. Thank you.”

They left the office together. Sally thanked the manager, and she and Jack headed back to the station.

Sally decided to send two members of the team, Jordan and Stuart, to question people at the pub where Tracy and John had argued. The rest of the day consisted of going over all four cases and revisiting the facts they had obtained, hoping that some kind of link would emerge. When the two team members returned, they informed Sally that the barmaid was eager to help and thought she might be able to give a good description of the man who’d occupied the stool for a few hours that night.

At last, Sally felt they were finally getting somewhere. She just hoped that momentum continued. On the way home, she asked the duty sergeant to be on the lookout for John and his friends to make their statements that evening. She hoped he wouldn’t let her down.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Feeling drained, Sally pulled into her parents’ road. Instinctively, her foot pressed down hard on the accelerator, then she screeched to a halt barely inches from the tall, tattooed skinhead whose hefty frame cast a shadow over her father. The brute was threatening her dad with a metal bar, while two more men, slightly smaller in stature, were cheering on the skinhead.