‘Clive Winters has spoken with all of them. Nothing to report. McKee keeps himself to himself. They’re all singing the same song. He’ll say good morning or good afternoon as he passes you on the stairs, but that’s the end of it. He goes out to work in the morning, returns early evening. No one knew his name or what he does for a living.’

‘Anything about his white transit van?’ asked Winters.

DS Mason’s assistant, Sergeant Paul Price, appeared behind him in the doorway.

‘None of them have ever seen him in or around a white van. He walks out of the house, he walks back into the house. No white van,’ said Mason.

‘What have you got, Pricey?’

‘A passport. An address book. A diary.’ Price showed the bagged haul to Mason. ‘From a drawer in his bedroom. He travels to Thailand most years by the stamps on his passport. The diary’s just a functional one, times and dates of appointments, nothing about the inner workings of his mind. He visits three different prostitutes on a regular basis. He’s heavily oversexed but so far there’s nothing to connect him with abduction, murder or mutilation. Not from here anyway.’ Price looked directly at Mason. ‘Shall we start loading the van, Terry?’

‘Let’s make a start.’

Stone made his way out of the living room and into the spartan bedroom. The floorboards were propped up against the wall near the bed and mattress, which were covered in bubble wrap. The wardrobe was open and empty, and next to this was a bench press, a barbell and a collection of heavy free-standing weights. He made a series of snapshots of Edgar McKee’s life and felt a wave of depression.

In the cramped kitchen, he opened the freezer door and saw a huge range of expensive cuts of meat in the top drawer. In the second drawer down, there were plastic boxes containing what looked like frozen soup, each box labelled by days of the week.

Detective Constable Clive Winters walked past the kitchen doorway with a sack of pornographic DVDs in one hand and magazines in the other.

‘Clive?’ He stopped. ‘Ask Pricey for the contact details of his three lady friends. We’ll have to talk to them about Edgar McKee. I’ll leave that one with you. OK?’

‘I’ll do it as soon as I’ve offloaded this filth on to the van.’

As Stone headed for the narrow hallway and the door leading out, his iPhone buzzed in his hand.

‘Karl, where are you?’

It was Sergeant Harris.

‘Edgar McKee’s flat. What’s up?’

‘Do you know where Eve is?’

‘No, I haven’t seen her since she was down at the Albert Dock.’