‘When was she born?’

Edgar McKee rolled his sleeve up and showed Clay the tattoo on his wrist.

‘She wasn’t a kid when she had me but she was a single woman. It wasn’t like nowadays when no one gives a fuck about anything much. Everyone had too much to say for themselves in the 1970s.’

‘Where’s her grave?’

‘I don’t know. The moment I found out she was dead, I got the tattoo and gave up on the job. What’s your point?’

‘Is it possible she’s buried in Springwood Cemetery?’

‘It’s possible. Or Anfield Cemetery. Or she could be in Graceland with Elvis. Seriously, how the fuck do I know?’

Edgar McKee looked at his solicitor with an expression of extreme frustration that begged an essential question.

‘Are you going to charge my client or let him go?’

‘We will be charging you before the twenty-four-hour time window closes.’

Clay pulled up a series of images from her gallery.

‘Our Scientific Support officers found something odd in your DVD collection. It was ninety-nine per cent hard-core pornography…’

‘…Which is perfectly legal and advertised in national tabloid newspapers.’

Clay turned her iPhone towards McKee.

‘They found some Hammer Horror films. Not that many but enough to stand out from the rest of your collection. Look!’

‘What do you want me to say, Clay?’

‘Why are they there?’

‘Because I was into them when I hit puberty. I fancied the actresses in them, when I was becoming sexually aware. It’s the only sentimental thing you’ll find in my life, I’m telling you.’

‘Who were the actresses in them?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Cecily Levin was in Twins of Evil, Lust For A Vampire, The Vampire Lovers, Dracula AD 1972. Ring any bells?’

‘No.’

‘Really? Sex is clearly of great importance in your life. As you know, we’ve been talking to Marlene Black. She’s one of three sex workers you go and visit on a regular basis. That’s not cheap. How do you pay for it?’

‘I live a frugal life. It’s the only joy I get.’

‘I went to Marlene’s house,’ said Winters. He turned his camera towards Edgar McKee. ‘This is her in her kitchen at home.’

‘So that’s what she looks like without make-up,’ observed Edgar McKee.

‘How many women have you had sex with in your life?’ asked Winters.

‘Thousands.’

‘You must be very proficient in the bedroom. Experienced. You have a powerful gym-honed body. You’ve been round the block and back many times.’

Clay saw a glint of pride and a sheen of machismo in McKee’s eyes as Winters spoke.

‘How do you think women perceive you?’

‘Let’s just say the women I pay for sex don’t fake their orgasms. I’m better than good in bed. They tell me all the time. I know when people bullshit me. These women aren’t bullshitting me.’