As he was about to enter the cells he shouted back over his shoulder. ‘Nick, prep the interview room.’

‘What about the roadblocks, Sarge? And should I inform the inspector that we have him?’

Chandler paused. He should call off the search immediately but there was no harm in it continuing for a little while. The danger was off the streets. Both Gabriel and Heath.

‘Gimme half an hour,’ said Chandler.

With a hesitant nod, Nick returned to the front desk. A feather of mistrust caught in Chandler’s throat. Would his young constable obey him, or run off and tell Mitch and the others? At his age, Chandler would have followed every command given by his superior but Nick didn’t seem to suffer from that kind of blind loyalty. Given Chandler’s current conduct that might have been a good thing.

As they closed in on cell number three, Gabriel started trying to squirm from Chandler’s grasp, directing his body anywhere but towards the waiting cell.

‘Is he in here?’ whispered Gabriel, his voice so soft Chandler initially thought he’d imagined it. Chandler didn’t answer but kept pulling him towards the cells.

‘Don’t,’ said Gabriel, the colour in his tanned face almost washed out. His eyes darted over his shoulder at Chandler, his captor. His voice was soft like a summer breeze, barely perceptible but scorching all the same. A voice that contrasted with his scrawny beard and mien of fear.

‘Who’s that?’

Compared to the softness of Gabriel’s voice, Heath’s angry demand crashed around the cells, causing Gabriel to freeze, his eyes darting towards the sound, trying to pin the source down.

‘It’s me, Mr Barwell,’ said Chandler, aiming Gabriel towards the cell. ‘Now keep the noise down and get some rest,’ he added, ushering Gabriel inside number three before undoing his cuffs. He swiftly backed to the door and closed it. He had them both. Locked up. Where they couldn’t hurt anyone.

At the sound of the closed door, Heath became even more curious. ‘Who are you putting in a cell, Sergeant? Is that him?’ The sonorous voice stuttered, the power swiftly vanishing from it.

‘Is that him?’ repeated Heath.

Chandler didn’t answer the question. He had two prisoners who seemed equally frightened of each other. But neither of them seemed to display the cold nature of a serial killer. At least according to the books and television he had seen.

That thought stayed with Chandler as he returned to the office. Nick was waiting for him, literally on the edge of his seat.

‘Did he say anything?’

‘No. One of the men in there is a very good actor.’

‘Or both are,’ noted Nick. ‘The interview room’s ready.’

‘Good.’

‘You know most serial killers are good liars. Ted Bundy was—’

Chandler was almost glad that another one of Nick’s morbid biographies was interrupted by Heath yelling from the cells.