He was right, annoyingly. They had nothing on him other than a second-hand insight into his usual routine—third-hand, if you counted the translator—and some personal experience of what a dick he was. Neither was grounds for arrest, and if he hadn’t already done so, Rufus would reach that same conclusion soon.

This was getting them nowhere.

Time for a risky play.

“You say you didn’t go to the house, Mr Boyle,” Hamza said, channelling his inner Jack Logan. “But we both know that’s not true, don’t we?”

Boyle frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but Hamza raised a hand, calling for silence.

“Before you say anything, I want you to think very hard about your answer,” Hamza warned him. “Very hard. And remember that this interview is being recorded, and that anything you say is admissible in court. Similarly, anything we say in follow-up to your statement...” He gave the folder a meaningful tap. “…anything that contradicts what you’ve told us, will also be heard in court.”

Sinead saw the play that Hamza was making, so interlaced her fingers and leaned forward in perfect synch with the DS.

“What Detective Sergeant Khaled is saying, Mr Boyle, is that you might want to start telling us the truth, before you make things any worse for yourself.”

Rufus’s eyes flitted between them. He swallowed so hard that he practically said the word, ‘Gulp.’

“But I… I mean…” He scratched himself. Tilted his head back, like he was trying to get away from them. “I honestly didn’t,” he insisted. “Honestly!

Both detectives adopted the sort of expressions found on the faces of parents who weren’t angry, just disappointed.

And also a bit angry.

Neither of them said a word. Both of them—Sinead in particular—enjoyed how visibly uncomfortable this made the man across from them.

“Oh! Wait! Actually, I forgot something!” Rufus announced. “There was one night that I thought about going in to say hello. I was passing by, and I considered popping in. I was coming back from the cinema. The new one. In town. They’re showing old Bond movies. A new one each night of the week. But I didn’t. Swing by the house, I mean. I didn’t go in. I swear.”

“Why not?” Hamza asked.

“I could see they had guests,” Rufus replied.

“Guests?” Sinead asked. “How do you know?”

“There was a car out front,” Rufus said.

“A car? What kind of car?” DS Khaled pressed.

“I don’t know. I have to confess, it’s not an area of expertise. Not that type of car, anyway. Small. Black, or… dark blue, maybe. It was on the drive. So, I thought I should probably leave them to it.”

Sinead scribbled a note. “And what night was this?”

Rufus blew out his cheeks. “Now you’re asking. It was Goldfinger, so what’s that? Fourth one?”