‘Where were you?’

‘I was . . .’ His eyes slipped away to the left. ‘At home. With Sophie. We watched a DVD, I told you this.’

‘Liar. Where were you?’

‘I told you where I was . . .’ Eyes straight ahead, imploring, trying to hold Phil’s gaze, saying: Would I lie to you? ‘That’s the truth.’

‘You’re lying, Ryan. Where were you? Between eight p.m. and two a.m.? When Claire Fielding, your ex-girlfriend, the mother of your child, was being murdered, where were you?’

‘I’ve told you.’ Eyes left. ‘At home. Watching a DVD. With Sophie. Ask her.’

Phil gave a small, tight smile. ‘We will. Don’t worry about that. Can you trust her?’

‘What?’

‘Can you trust her? To lie for you?’

Eyes away to the left. Thinking. ‘I can trust her. Yeah.’ Defiance in his voice.

Phil sat back, not taking his eyes off the other man. Time for something else. ‘When did Claire first tell you she was pregnant?’

Brotherton thought, looking down to the right. ‘About . . . five, six months ago.’

‘And what was your reaction?’

‘I’ve told you. I didn’t believe her.’

‘But you soon did.’

Brotherton shrugged.

‘She soon convinced you. Because you told her you wanted her to get rid of it, didn’t you?’

Brotherton stared at him, said nothing.

‘In fact you said that if she didn’t, then you would. With your own hands. Isn’t that right?’

Fear appeared on Brotherton’s face. ‘I . . . I want my solicitor . . . I’m not sayin’ another word without my solicitor bein’ present.’

‘We’ve called her, she’s on her way.’

Rage and fear clouded Brotherton’s face. ‘She? What the fuck d’you mean, she? Where’s Warnock?’

Phil could barely keep the smile off his face. ‘We phoned your solicitor, Mr Warnock. He’s . . . unavailable, apparently. But they’re sending someone from the practice. Bit young, but very good, they say.’The smile appeared. ‘She’s just finished working with victims of domestic abuse in a women’s refuge, I think they said. I’m sure she’ll be very interested in all this.’ Phil didn’t know anything of the sort, but he knew what kind of effect his words would have.

Brotherton said nothing. Phil knew he had hit the bullseye. Brotherton would talk to him now.

‘So you offered to give Claire Fielding, your girlfriend, an abortion. With your own bare hands, is that right?’

‘It wasn’t like that . . .’

Phil leaned across the table. ‘What was it like then, Ryan? Tell me. Make me understand.’

‘She . . . I didn’t believe her at first. But then I had to.’

‘And you got angry.’

He nodded.

‘You didn’t want a kid around the place. It would stifle you, tie you down, that right?’

Another nod.

‘Too much responsibility. So you made that very generous offer.’

Brotherton said nothing.

‘And what was Claire’s response?’

Brotherton still said nothing.

‘No? I’ll tell you then, shall I? She left you. Summoned up the courage to walk out on you.’

‘No she didn’t. I threw her out.’ His eyes away to the left as he spoke.

‘No you didn’t. That’s a lie. She left you. But you could-n’t take it, could you? Couldn’t take some piece of skirt walking out on you. Especially not a pregnant one. How hurt was your pride?Your ego?’

Brotherton shrugged. ‘Same as anyone else’s.’

‘Same as anyone else’s. So what did you do next?’

‘Nothin’.’

‘Liar.You phoned her. Texted her. Threatened her.’

‘No I didn’t . . .’

‘Yes you did, Ryan. We’ve got her phone records.’ Not strictly true, thought Phil, but they were on the way. He was confident they would show that he was telling the truth.

Brotherton’s head went down. Phil had been right. He didn’t have time to gloat; he had an advantage. He had to press it.

‘You stalked her?’

‘No.’ Eyes away to the left. A lie.

Phil hid his smile. Another bullseye. ‘Yes you did, Ryan. You stalked her. Why? Because she’d dared to escape, to run away? Because you couldn’t have her where you wanted her to torment? Yeah?’

Silence.

‘So what did you think you would achieve by stalking her? Would that get her back?’

Brotherton said nothing.

Phil regarded him coolly. He was well in the zone now, thinking and acting intuitively. On fire but controlling it.

‘Did you like the feeling of power it gave you, is that it? Do you think it scared her?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Because you like scaring women, don’t you?’

‘Fuck off!’

‘Like hurting them . . .’

Brotherton stood up, swinging his arms. ‘Fuck off!’

The uniformed officer waiting at the door stepped forward, ready to grab him if he made a move. Phil got to his feet too. Brotherton moved forward. He was going to go for him.

47

H e stood up, opened his eyes. Allowed himself a few seconds of indulgence. Smiled.

His prey was gone. Dead. The birthing room trashed. Order had become chaos. He could feel the blood of his prey soaking into his clothes. He loved that feeling. Luxuriated in it.

It had started when he used to hunt rabbits and deer in the woods. There was the planning, the preparation.Then the chase, the thrill of the kill.Then that moment of power, looking down on something that had recently been alive, knowing he had had the power of life and death over it.And had chosen death. He used to get his knife out and quickly slit the animal open. Steam would rush out as the hot innards and blood collided with the cooler air. Blood would spurt and fountain and he would catch it. Spray it on to himself, feel the hot, glistening liquid warm his skin, smell the dark, coppery scent of his prey. Spraying it down his throat, swallowing it down. It felt like he was taking the spirit of the slain beast, ingesting it, letting it feed him.

He looked down at his prey, lying there on the floor of her living room. He had wanted to do just that. Catch her blood in his hands as it had spurted out, strip naked, rub it all over himself, feel her on his skin.

But he hadn’t. He had to be disciplined about this hunt. Focused on his objective. He had no time to ingest the spirit.

Or did he . . . He looked down at the small, kicking baby he had cut out of her. Birthed in blood, its midwife a blade and a dying host. He smiled. There was the spirit, the life force from within her. He was taking that instead.

He took out the blanket he had prepared, wrapped the baby up, put it in his rucksack.

Left the house, closing the door behind him.

He walked down the street feeling like a god amongst mortals.

No one saw him go.

48

The door of the observation room opened and Anni Hepburn rushed in. Marina reluctantly took her attention away from the mirror.

‘I think Phil needs help,’ she said.

‘Never mind that,’ said Anni. ‘He can handle himself. We’ve got something. Ryan Brotherton used prostitutes. He knew Susie Evans. And Sophie Gale. That’s how they met. He’s known her for years. She’s also told us that Brotherton was out on Wednesday night. The night Claire and Julie were murdered.’ She looked at the screen, took in the standoff that was taking place. ‘Tell Phil. Now.’

‘Ask him about prostitutes.’ Marina’s voice was loud and sharp in Phil’s ear.

‘What?’

‘It’ll calm him down, wrong-foot him. Anything. Just ask him. Now!’

‘What about the prostitutes, Ryan?’

The big man was close to hyperventilating. The uniformed officer ready to intercede.

Phil raised his voice. ‘Prostitutes, Ryan. You ever used them?’

Brotherton’s head jerked suddenly upwards. He stopped in his tracks. ‘What? What’s that got to do with anything?’