‘No. I’ve been through his history on both devices stretching back to last June, including the evidence he’s deleted from the surface of his hard drive. On the evidence I’ve seen, he’s never been on an internet dating site.’

‘How sure are you?’

‘One hundred per cent.’

‘Chat rooms?’

‘Doesn’t do them.’

‘Emails?’

‘No communication with any of the victims on email or Messenger. I simply didn’t find anything to link him to Sandra O’Day, Annie Boyd, Amanda Winton or Francesca Christie.’

‘Have you looked into his adventures on the dark web or the deep web?’

‘That’s my next job. God knows what I’m going to find there porn-wise.’

‘No sign of anything to do with Richard Ezra in his photo galleries?’

‘No. He’s taken some pretty rancid selfies.’

‘Naked selfies?’

‘He’s in love with his own body.’

Clay considered Poppy’s words.

‘Is he masturbating in the selfies?’ asked Clay.

‘No. Strangely enough.’

‘What’s your verdict on Edgar McKee?’

‘Depressing loner, sex maniac but not involved in the crimes you’re now investigating.’

They walked towards the top floor and through the sliding doors of the incident room. The room was lit by a quartet of lights dotted around the desks. Clay walked through the dark spaces towards her desk. She pulled up a second chair and indicated for Poppy to sit down in the glow of her desk light.

‘Show me the devices please, Poppy.’

Poppy took a pair of latex gloves from her coat pocket and slipped them on. She placed Edgar McKee’s iPhone on Clay’s desk and his laptop next to it.

‘Are his selfies on the phone?’ asked Clay.

‘Yes.’

‘Any pictures of himself on the laptop?’

‘No.’

‘Are they littered around the photo gallery?’

‘He’s a neat and tidy narcissist.’

‘Show me.’

‘They’re all in one camera roll and he’s the only person starring in it.’ As Poppy spoke, she picked up the iPhone and pulled up the gallery.

‘Do you want a coffee, Eve?’ Poppy handed the iPhone to Clay.

‘Thank you, Poppy.’

One hundred and ninety-six pictures and all of himself, thought Clay, sensing a chink somewhere in his gruff armour. She put on a pair of latex gloves from her desk drawer.

She tapped on the first image and saw a rear view of Edgar McKee naked in front of a mirror, head tilted to look up at his iPhone, his powerful shoulders and muscular arms the product of years of working out.

She swiped the screen and saw a head and shoulders shot of Edgar McKee on his bench, the silver of a weights bar above his head.

Clay swiped and swiped and saw that the content and theme of the pictures was repetitive: the wonder of me.

‘Poppy, are there any selfies that stand out from the others?’