‘We have reason to believe that he is back in the area, and we think that he is dangerous.’

I decide against telling her that he most probably murdered her daughter.

She looks sceptical.

‘He isn’t. He has been here lots of times since Anna was… you know… I really don’t think he’s capable of what you’re saying.’

Her eyes fill with tears and I know she must be thinking of her only child. I push the box of tissues that are sitting on the table towards her.

‘Either way,’ I begin, once she has dabbed at her eyes, ‘do you have somewhere else you could sleep tonight? A relative’s house, perhaps, or with a friend?’

In the space of time between my question and her answer, there is the faint sound of metal scraping against metal, coming from outside the door. Then, the unmistakable sound of the gate being closed. A moment later, there is a loud, urgent knock on the door.

I instinctively reach for my gun, my hand wrapping around the handle. Liam does the same. I whisper to Anna’s mother to go upstairs to the bathroom and to lock the door. She gives us a terrified look before following our orders, as another powerful knock on the door interrupts the silence in the house.

Liam walks towards the door, gun at his side. He unlocks the door and presses down on the handle, before taking a quick step back and extending his arms in front of him, gun raised.

Standing in the doorway is Rory. There is a deep gash on his arm and he is holding a toolbox in his left hand.

28

‘So, what happened after you arrested him?’

DCI Bob, Liam and I are sat in his office. It’s nearly midnight and I can feel the exhaustion of the frenetic day settling into my body. I rub my eyes in an attempt to clear some of the fog, and describe what happened after Liam opened the door. How Rory had dropped the hammer and claimed it wasn’t what it looked like and how he hadn’t resisted when we asked him to accompany us to the police station for questioning. In fact, he had come very willingly. Of course, he had no choice.

Bob looks annoyed.

‘I don’t know what fucking game he is playing, but it’s time to find out,’ he spits, standing up and moving around his desk.

He motions for me to follow him into the interview room, currently being occupied by Rory.

Looking through the window, he appears agitated. He’s sitting at a right angle to the table, one fidgeting leg draped across the other. His elbow is resting on the flat surface, his hand palm down, with fingers drumming rhythmically on the table. When the door opens, he slowly swivels his head and greets us with a worried smile.

‘I think I’d like my lawyer now,’ he says before Bob or I can say a word.

‘Perfect,’ utters Bob, before marching out of the room. I tell Rory that his lawyer will be contacted, though it will be morning before the interview will take place and that a cell will be made up for him to stay the night. His face falls at this information and I leave without another word.