Emily gave the suspect a cool smile. ‘I believe you knew the dead girl, Petulia Ferribie.’

‘She was a tenant of mine.’

‘You’re no stranger to murder, are you, Mr Cassidy?’

Cassidy stared at her, opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it.

‘Did you think we wouldn’t find out? Everything’s on computer these days. We can bring up a name at the touch of a button and that marvellous little machine gives us chapter and verse on everything that person’s done wrong. We know all about you, Mr Cassidy. We know what you did to your sister. We know about the secure hospital. I suppose when you’ve killed once it’s easier the second time round. Was it easy to kill Pet? What have you done with the murder weapon, by the way? You might as well tell us because we’ve just sent a team round to search your house. If you tell us what you used and where it is now it’ll save a lot of time.’

Emily looked sideways at the young solicitor, challenging him to argue. He made a feeble plea for his client not to say anything incriminating but, apart from that, it seemed that he’d run out of ideas.

She opened the file in front of her, going for the kill.

‘At the age of sixteen you stabbed your younger sister, Grace, with a kitchen knife. You also cut off three of her fingers. She was a brilliant young pianist, by all accounts and you were jealous of her. I suppose it got too much for you, your sister getting all the adulation and attention.’ She paused. ‘It was the same with me and my sister,’ she said. ‘She was the blue-eyed girl, my parents sent her to a posh school while I had to make do with the local comp. It gets to you after a while, doesn’t it? Festers like an infected wound.’ She put her face close to his. ‘Until you just can’t stand it any longer. She was going to be my cousin’s bridesmaid and I deliberately spilled ink on her dress.’ She looked at Joe. ‘You know, it’s the first time I’ve ever told anyone.’

‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with . . .’

‘There were times when I felt that I could cheerfully kill my sister back then, Mr Cassidy. I didn’t, of course or else I wouldn’t be sitting here now heading a murder enquiry. But I know how it feels. I know what made you do it.’

Cassidy stood up, sending his chair flying backwards. The solicitor, alarmed, put a hand on his arm and hissed at him to sit down. But his advice was ignored.

‘You don’t know how it feels to be accused of something you didn’t do. You don’t know what it’s like to be locked up for years with doctors bleating in your ear all the time, telling you they know what you’re feeling. And when you tell them straight that you didn’t do it, they shake their heads and smile and say you’re in denial. Then you feel like punching their stupid, smug faces. What part of “I didn’t kill her” don’t you understand?’

Emily glanced at Joe. Somehow she hadn’t expected such a violent reaction from Cassidy. The doctors might have been right about him erasing his horrific act from his memory. But, on the other hand, if he was innocent and nobody believed him, his adolescence must have been a living hell.

‘But you acknowledged that you’d done it,’ she said. ‘You confessed.’

‘Only because that was the only way to get them off my back. All the time the person who really killed my sister has been out there somewhere.’ He paused. ‘Have you spoken to Ian Zepper?’

‘Are you suggesting that he had something to do with Grace’s death? He had an alibi.’

‘Provided by his wife. Wives have been known to lie for their husbands.’

‘His wife’s a well-respected medieval historian, I believe.’

‘Everybody lies, Chief Inspector. You should know that by now. Even well-respected medieval historians. I’ve heard they’ve split up since then so maybe now she’ll tell a different story.’

Emily stood up. ‘We’ll need to talk to you again, Mr Cassidy.’

The tape was switched off and the suspect led away to the cells to contemplate their next meeting.

‘Maybe we should have another word with Zepper,’ said Joe.

‘Maybe. But whatever Cassidy says, his alibi was checked at the time and it stood up.’

Joe’s mobile phone began to ring. As he answered it, Emily watched his expression carefully but she found it hard to tell whether the news was good or bad. He ended the call and looked at her.

‘That was Sunny. Nothing incriminating’s been found at Cassidy’s house. But the tech people are going through his computer files as we speak.’

‘He didn’t kill her with a bleeding computer, Joe.’

Joe didn’t answer and Emily regretted her sharpness. She was under pressure and the thought of some computer expert muddying the waters by turning up any fraudulent business dealings made her heart sink.

‘Heard any more about Jenks?’ she asked wearily. ‘I just know the Super’s going to summon me into his office some time soon to ask me if there’s been any progress.’

‘Surely he realizes that it’s been pushed down our list of priorities.’

‘If some miracle happens and I’m ever promoted to Super, don’t let me get like that. If I ever start licking the arses of bigwigs and politicians, take me out and shoot me, will you.’

‘Will do, ma’am. And there’s been nothing more on Jenks. I’ve sent that video of the two girls off to the lab to be enhanced but . . .’

‘What about Jasmine?’

He sighed. ‘I was going to contact the university and ask them to go through their records but . . .’

‘As it’s linked to number thirteen we’d better get it done.’

‘If we don’t find her, it puts Barrington Jenks MP right at the scene when those girls disappeared.’

‘Did you believe his story?’

‘I don’t know.’

They’d arrived at the incident room. It was buzzing with activity, which was just how Emily liked it.

‘Anything to report?’ she called out as she walked in, causing several officers to flock round her.

‘Ma’am,’ said Jamilla. ‘The tech people have just been on. They’ve been going through Cassidy’s computer and there’s one file with a password they’re still trying to get into.’

‘Let me know when they do.’

Joe made for his desk and found the enhanced still from the video of the two missing girls had come back.

Emily watched while he opened the envelope. There in the bushes was a face. It was half concealed by foliage but it looked like a man and the arm pushing back the branch appeared to be tattooed – or perhaps it was the sunlight reflecting the mottled pattern of the leaves. He handed it straight to Emily and she stared at it for a while before touching Joe’s hand. ‘The video was taken in Jade’s garden. Her parents might know who this is.’

‘Come in, Joe. Sit down. I had hoped to get home for a couple of hours but . . .’ She indicated the heap of files on her desk. ‘What do you make of Cassidy?’

‘He’s a convicted killer. And his estate agent friend seemed a bit hazy about the time he left on the night of Pet’s murder so his alibi could be shaky. And there’s also the possibility that he has predatory sexual tastes.’

‘We’ve found absolutely no evidence of that so far. But it’s early days. What about the boys Pet lived with? Do you see either of them as a murderer? Similar motive, maybe . . . Thought they were on a promise . . .’

‘Matt strikes me as being a nice lad. As for Jason . . . well, I’m not sure. He says he was out busking at the time of her death but, as yet, no witnesses . . . none that have come forward anyway. The removal of the tongue suggests to me that someone’s silenced her. Or someone thinks she’s betrayed them by something she’s said. But I could be wrong,’ he added with a smile. ‘I have been before.’

‘Haven’t we all.’ Emily glanced at the clock on her wall. ‘I’d better phone Jeff and tell him I’ll be a bit late again. Fancy getting something to eat before we start the evening shift?’ Her eyes met Joe’s. ‘Sod the diet. You can’t conduct a murder investigation on an empty stomach.’

Emily claimed to be fighting a constant war against flab but she always seemed to welcome any excuse to raise the white flag and surrender. She swept out of the office ahead of him and as they were leaving the building, Joe’s heart lurched as he saw a familiar figure walking towards them.

Kirsten was bearing down on Joe like a ship in full sail, her pale trench coat open and flapping behind her in the breeze. And he knew that he had to take evasive action.

‘Who’s this?’ said Emily, her eyes shining at the prospect of scandal. ‘Looks like the vengeful mistress. What have you been up to?’

‘I’ll explain later,’ he said. Kirsten was getting closer and there was no escape.

‘I need to talk to you in private.’ Kirsten said. Her hair was wild and she spoke with the conviction of an avenging angel.

Emily took herself off to sit on a vacant bench a few yards away, handbag on knee, straining to listen.

‘What do you want, Kirsten?’

‘I’m off to Devon. I’m going to get conclusive evidence.’

‘You’ll be wasting your time.’

She wasn’t listening. ‘And when I get it I’m going to give it to the relevant authorities.’

‘Good. They’ll find nothing and maybe then you’ll leave me alone.’

She put her face close to his. He could smell her cloying perfume and feel her warm breath on his cheek. ‘Oh I’ll never do that, Joe. Even if you manage to fix it with the local police down there, I’ll keep on until my sister gets justice.’

She swung round, almost hitting him with her shoulder bag, before rushing away. Emily had stood up and watched as Kirsten disappeared behind a neighbouring building.

‘Come on, Joe, you’ve got to tell me. Who the hell was that?’

‘My sister-in-law.’

‘Something tells me she doesn’t like you much.’

‘You’re not wrong there. I need a drink.’

They walked the quarter of a mile to the Star in silence. The pub was experiencing the quiet lull between the tourist invasion and the evening rush so they were able to claim a cosy seat in the corner of the lounge bar. Joe went to the bar and bought a pint of Black Sheep for himself and a red wine for Emily. He sat down and Emily took a long sip, smacking her lips with satisfaction. ‘So, tell Aunty Emily your troubles.’

For a few moments Joe sat in silence, wondering where to begin. Then he launched on a brief summary of Kirsten’s allegations.

‘It’s taken her long enough to get round to it.’

‘I think that’s the problem. She feels bad about neglecting her sister and she’s taking it out on me.’

He picked up one of the cardboard menus that were propped up in the centre of the table. ‘What are you having?’

‘Lasagne. What about you?’

Joe scanned the menu. After his encounter with Kirsten his appetite had left him. ‘I’ll just have an omelette.’

‘Don’t let this business get to you.’ She paused. ‘Unless you’re guilty, that is. Sorry, only joking. Do you want me to have a word with her? I’ll put her right.’

Joe shook his head. He just wanted to change the subject and forget it.

He was relieved when the conversation moved on to the case and, as they ate, Emily used him as a sounding board to get things straight in her mind.

He couldn’t get Barrington Jenks’ connection with thirteen Torland Place out of his head somehow. And then there was George’s interest in the place. A mass murderer had lived there, a man who had killed his family and servants. Something in Obediah Shrowton must have snapped to make him commit such an atrocious act and suddenly he wanted to find out more, although he doubted whether he’d have time with his current work commitments. Maybe when they found out what had become of Jade and Nerys, and Pet’s killer was brought to justice.

They walked back to the police station through the narrow medieval streets with their overhanging upper storeys. At least, as far as Joe could tell, Kirsten hadn’t decided to follow them.

After checking that nothing new had come in, Joe saw Jamilla sitting at her desk, tapping away at her computer. He walked over to her and perched on the corner of her desk. But she had nothing exciting to report. She’d taken the picture of the figure in the bushes to Jade Portright’s parents but they had no idea who it was. The visit had been a waste of time and, according to Jamilla, had only served to raise the parents’ hopes.

Joe made for Emily’s office. The beer was making him feel a little drowsy. Perhaps he should have followed Emily’s advice and eaten something more substantial than an omelette.

‘You look how I feel,’ said Emily with a sigh as he sat down.

But before she could say any more, Sunny burst in and, from the expression on his face, Joe could tell that he was the bearer of interesting news.

‘I’ve checked out those names like you asked, ma’am. Den Harvey, the handyman at the leisure centre, was questioned about the death of a woman eleven years ago. She was his girlfriend and she was stabbed in an alley near his house. His mother provided his alibi and nothing could be proved against him.’ He paused. ‘And there’s something else. The victim’s eyes were gouged out.’

He wanted the anonymity of darkness so he avoided the main thoroughfares filled with drinkers and tourists, favouring the narrow snickleways that ran between the older buildings and meandered between ancient streets. Some were framed by archways, others were just narrow passageways, part of the great rabbit warren that had been Eborby city centre since the middle ages. They bore names like Cheat’s Yard, Slaughterman’s Passage and Mad Maggie’s Way. If Death hadn’t been so preoccupied he would have found them interesting.

He passed the cathedral and hurried under the archway of Monks Bar. He knew where he was heading. He knew the Enemy.

When he reached his destination, he saw that the Enemy had left the blinds up, giving him a good view inside. He would have preferred to target the woman, but he hadn’t been able to trace her address among all the Thwaites in the local phone directory. Plantagenet, however, had been an easy name to track down. And besides, there was bound to be a woman in his life. Or a close female friend or neighbour whose fate would cause him pain. It was just a question of watching and waiting.

Death kept his hidden vigil for a while until the Enemy appeared at the window and lowered the blinds.

Show over. For now.