‘Come on, Ryan.You hate women that much, sometimes it’s easier to pay to vent your frustrations, isn’t it?’

‘No.’ He sounded disgusted. His eyes went away to the left. Lying.

‘He knew Susie Evans,’ said Marina in his ear. ‘Was a customer of hers. That’s how he met Sophie Gale. They worked together. And she’s also told us he was out on Wednesday night.’

Phil tried not to let his emotions show. He kept his face as blank as possible. ‘Sit down, Ryan. Let’s talk.’

Phil sat down. Brotherton, getting his breath back, did likewise.

‘Now,’ said Phil. ‘You sure? You’ve never used prostitutes?’

‘No. Never.’ Eyes again to the left. Another lie. ‘I don’t have to pay for sex. I don’t need to.’

‘Might not just be for sex, though, might it?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘You know what I mean, Ryan. You like beating up women. Sometimes the women in your life don’t like it and walk out. Or testify against you and get you banged up. So you need an outlet. A bit of release. Would have thought prostitutes would fill the bill nicely.’

‘You’d have thought wrong.’ His voice sounded weak.

Phil sat back, regarding him again. ‘I don’t believe you, Ryan. You see, I’m good at my job. I sit here and I listen to people sitting where you are. They want me to believe what they’re telling me. And most of them are liars. Some of them are very good. Some of them I nearly believe.’ He folded his arms. ‘But not you, Ryan. I know you’re lying.’

‘Prove it.’ Brotherton aimed for defiance in his voice, missed.

‘Okay,’ said Phil.

Anni Hepburn had just left the observation room to return to questioning Sophie Gale when the door opened again and an out-of-breath Ben Fenwick entered. Marina took her attention from Phil, looked at him. She had never seen him so dishevelled yet so elated. He looked wired.

‘Let me in,’ he said, making for the desk.

Marina moved aside, let him take over the microphone. Fenwick took a few seconds to regain his breath before he spoke. While waiting, he turned to Marina.

‘How’s he doing?’

‘Good,’ she said. She didn’t want to commit herself to anything else. Especially after the way Fenwick had spoken to her earlier. She didn’t want to tell him that it looked like Phil was about to crack Brotherton, that he was homing in for the kill. That Fenwick had been right and she had been wrong.

Fenwick smiled. It was the kind of glassy-eyed leer a coked-up City trader would give. ‘Well he’s going to be even better after I tell him this.’ He opened the channel, spoke into the mic. ‘Phil? Ben Fenwick.’

Marina watched Phil’s expression through the mirror. His head jerked upwards and he stopped talking immediately. He didn’t reply but they knew he was listening.

‘The Birdies have been singing.’ Fenwick laughed at his own joke.

Technically, thought Marina, now irritated with the man, the Birdies had been making other people sing.

‘They’ve gone through the records of the estate agency Lisa King worked for. Guess what? Brotherton was registered with them. He looked at houses through them. Lisa King’s name comes up a couple of times as showing him round some properties. Phil, we’ve got the bastard!’

Fenwick turned to Marina, a leering smile on his face. ‘Police work,’ he said.

In the interview room, Phil once again did his best not to respond. Instead he leaned back, regarding Brotherton quizzically. Brotherton looked down at the table, clearly scared.

‘You asked me to prove it,’ said Phil. ‘Prove you killed Claire and Julie. Okay. I will. There’s a few ways I could do that. Let me ask you something. How long have you been in your house?’

Brotherton frowned. It wasn’t the question he had been expecting.

‘How long?’

He shrugged. ‘Couple of months.’

And you were on the books of Haskell Robins estate agents?’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t buy from them.’

‘But one of their estate agents turned up dead, didn’t she?’

Brotherton frowned again.

‘Lisa King. Twenty-six years old. Married. Found in an empty property with her stomach ripped open. Pregnant.’

‘Wait a minute . . .’

Phil pressed on. ‘Right. Just circumstantial. Tenuous. I know. Try this, then. I could tell you that your name’s come up as someone who’s been questioned in brothel raids. A few of them. What would you say to that?’

Brotherton, visibly shaken, said nothing.

‘Okay. So you’ve got a hatred of women.You beat up girlfriends, you beat up prostitutes. Now, one of these prostitutes you say you didn’t know was Susie Evans. And you know what happened to her. She was murdered too. While she was pregnant. Her stomach ripped open, the baby taken out. Was that yours too?’

Brotherton looked frantically round the room, realised there was no escape.

‘You stalk women who dump you, threaten them. Your own girlfriend is pregnant and you offer to rip the baby out of her.’ Phil leaned forward. ‘And then what happens? She turns up dead. With the baby ripped out of her. Just like the other two who you claim you don’t know. And you lie to me about where you were on the night it happened. So, how am I doing so far, Ryan? How much more proof do you need?’

Brotherton put his head in his hands. His shoulders began to shake. He was crying. Phil saw his advantage, pressed on.

‘We’ve got you on CCTV outside Claire’s flat. We’ve got her phone records.’

He shook his head. ‘No . . . no . . .’

‘You killed her, Ryan, didn’t you? Just admit it, then we can start sorting it out.’

No reply, just crying.

‘You were out that night, weren’t you? The night Claire was killed.’

Brotherton said nothing.

‘I know you were. Sophie told us.’

‘Sophie . . .’ His voice was small and fragile, like a child who had been told there was no Father Christmas.

‘Yes, Sophie. She’s not going to lie for you any more, Ryan. So tell me the truth.You were out that night, weren’t you?’

Brotherton nodded. Breakthrough. Phil could barely sit in his seat, he was so excited. He swallowed down his rising excitement, controlled it, kept his voice steady, his breathing even, pressed on.

‘You went to her flat, didn’t you? You crept in and killed her.’

Phil waited. Here it comes, he thought. The confession. The climax he had been working for, building towards. Brotherton looked up, eyes shining, face wet.

‘Didn’t you, Ryan?’ Phil’s voice was gentle, coaxing. ‘You killed her.’

Brotherton shook his head. ‘No. I didn’t. I swear I didn’t . . .’

Phil studied him. Watched his eyes for deviation.

‘You killed Claire, Ryan. And Julie. Didn’t you?’

Brotherton shook his head once more.

‘Yes you did. Claire. And Julie. And Lisa. And Susie. You did. Didn’t you?’

‘No . . . no . . .’ Brotherton’s eyes slid down to the right.

‘Didn’t you . . .’

‘No . . .’

Phil sat back, exhausted. He had seen it. Marina’s voice in his ear just confirmed it.

‘Oh my God. He’s telling the truth, Phil. He didn’t do it.’

Then, just to emphasise the point, Brotherton started talking. ‘Yes, I was out. There’s this . . . this girl that I’ve been seeing . . . a young girl. I . . . I didn’t want Sophie to know . . .’

Phil stared at Brotherton until he could look at him no longer.

Marina was right. Brotherton was telling the truth.

49

Graeme Eades felt like Superman.

He parked in front of his own house in Stanway, switched off the engine, sat back, closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. The afternoon with Erin had been beyond fantastic. She had joined him in the hotel room not long after he arrived, seemingly delighted at what he had bought for her. Cooing and squealing, she had gone straight into the bathroom and changed into the first outfit, telling him to just lie himself down on the bed and get comfortable, and she would give him a treat.