“Third,” Sinead said. Her dad had been a fan. He’d subjected her to all of them, more than once.

“Wednesday, then,” Rufus said.

“Time?”

Rufus checked his watch, like it might somehow show him the time back then, rather than the time right now. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Later. Maybe… half-eight? Quarter to nine? Around then.”

Hamza waited until Sinead had jotted this down before continuing. “And you didn’t think to mention this before because…?”

Rufus blinked. “Because I… I mean…” He cleared his throat, shook his head, then said a firm, “No,” to no one in particular.

Then, he sat upright and straightened his shoulders, his tone shifting into something clipped and condescending. “I’m very sorry, but I’m a rather busy man, and I’m dealing with a lot at the moment. Mostly, the discovery of four dead bodies in my house, and the ongoing headache of having to cancel and refund multiple future guests because apparently nobody is able to tell me when I’ll be able to open up again. You’ll forgive me if briefly seeing a parked car didn’t rank high on my list of recent memorable moments.”

He checked his watch for a second time, nodded like he’d just received the answer to a question that had been bothering him, and tapped his hands on the table.

“I’m afraid I have other appointments today, so we’ll have to call this to a close,” he told them.

“We still have questions, Mr Boyle,” Sinead said.

“We all have questions, dear,” he said. “But, if you want me to answer any more, you can explain your reasoning to my solicitor, and he can arrange a convenient time and place.” He looked from one detective to the other and smiled patronisingly. “Sound good?”

It didn’t ‘sound good.’ Not even close.

But they had nothing to hold him on, and they were left with no choice.

“If that’s your final decision, Mr Boyle…” Hamza began.

“It is.”

“Then, we’ll terminate the interview now,” the DS concluded.

Sinead leaned back in her chair, arms folded. “But don’t leave town,” she said. “Will you, dear?”

* * *

Once Rufus Boyle had retired to the comfort and safety of his Range Rover, Hamza and Sinead stood in the corridor outside the interview room, their backs against the wall.

“At one point in there, I thought you were going to take a swing at him,” Hamza said.

“Just one?” Sinead replied. “You obviously weren’t paying attention.” She turned to the senior officer. “He is a dick, isn’t he? It’s not just me?”

“It’s not just you,” Hamza confirmed. “Entitled knob. World’s full of them, unfortunately.”

“Aye. I’ve met most of them,” Sinead said. She gestured to the door Rufus had been escorted out through. “Think he’s telling the truth?”

“About not going to the house or seeing the car?”

“Either. Both.”