Bancho finished reading the documents and clippings on the case and looked up at Sam Jones. Her green eyes were burrowing into his, begging for some sign he would support her. After twenty years, why was this case still so important to her? An unsolved murder, well, he could understand how that would eat away at an officer’s soul. But this one was solved. He narrowed his eyes as he searched her face for the truth of her story. The canteen was still full of officers who had lingered long after their dinner had gone cold and the football was over.

‘I’m a wee bit confused here. Maybe I’m missing something. I remember the Matthew Cook case, everyone does. God, do I remember it?’ He put both his elbows on the table and leaned in close, so close he could smell her perfume. ‘What you’ve told me so far would mean that they were still in jail, so if they’re in jail, how come I’ve got a madman on my patch cutting out punters’ hearts?’ He scratched his head again. ‘Unless you’re saying those kids didn’t kill Matthew Cook twenty years ago?’

Sam picked up her empty coffee cup and stared into the bottom of it. She was tired and this was harder than she’d thought it would be. ‘We didn’t get the wrong killers. Kevin Milne and Renee Smith murdered Matthew Cook at a scrap yard at Edmonton Green and they were put away for twenty-five years. Lord Justice Edward Hunter intended at the end of that period to make life really mean life.’

Bancho didn’t believe in coincidences, but he’d never heard of that particular English judge until a couple of days ago, when he’d seen his face on the News at Six coming out of 10 Downing Street with the prime minister. ‘Lord Justice Edward Hunter who just happens to now be the new Lord Chancellor of England?’ he asked.

Sam Jones nodded. ‘The very one. He was the trial judge, as you know. Hunter was a hard sentencer, hard on crime. Not a man that kowtowed to political correctness.’ Her eyes glazed over in memory. ‘He saw what an evil little shit Kevin Milne was but…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘What happened?’

‘Human rights.’ The London cop spat the words out, but she was singing to the converted. Bancho gave her his full attention. DI Sam Jones was exhausted. The hot, tarry coffee was disgusting, but it was filled with caffeine and she would take anything to stay awake and hunt down the bastard who had haunted her dreams for two decades.