Byford, positively identified by Sarah Chapman, plus the Lexus registered to him and left in the car park after the ritual, assumed a politely defiant posture, hands clasped on the table in front of him. The uniformed officer who had fetched him from the cells asked if there was anything else and slipped out of the room, leaving her and Aaron Sharpe alone with their first interviewee of the day.

Hawkins studied Byford. He was in reasonable nick for his fifty-four years, with a smooth, bald pate, and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, almost certainly dyed.

She began by introducing everyone to the recording equipment, before addressing her subject directly. ‘For the benefit of the tape, Mr Byford, am I correct in saying you’ve waived your right to legal counsel?’

‘For now.’ Byford spoke in a quiet, deliberate tone. ‘Mainly because the only charges that have been put to me are possession of an offensive weapon, which I understand applies only in public places, and breach of the peace. I hope your people have since established that my friends and I are in full legal ownership of the old factory premises on Dock Road, and that a lack of immediate neighbours means our activities there disturb no one.’

Hawkins smiled grimly. ‘We’re still checking the ownership status of the factory unit, and I think we both know you aren’t here for disturbing anyone’s peace.’

‘That’s a relief. May I leave?’

‘Nice try, but no.’ She leaned forwards. ‘You’re here because you were engaged in some kind of spiritual ceremony involving a large knife and a young girl in a negligee, tied to a table while you poured blood on to her. I saw the whole thing.’

Byford scratched an eyebrow. ‘It wasn’t real blood. And what you saw, my dear, was simple re-enactment, no different than when historians gather on muddy hillsides to have pretend fights with wooden swords.’

‘Really?’ There’s nothing wooden about that knife. I’ve examined the thing. It’s sharp enough to gut a rhino.’

Byford remained unfazed. ‘Authenticity isn’t a crime. Ask anyone from our group; they’ll tell you no one is ever harmed. In fact, the girl’s a member of our group. Ask her.’

‘Actually, I have,’ she said. ‘And yes, she backs up your story which, before you relax, needs addressing, too. Would you care to explain the nature of your relationship with Miss Chapman?’

A frown. ‘I imagine she told you we’re an item. Well, it is … traditional for the master of ceremonies to have his pick of the group’s female contingent. And the girl has a certain affection for me.’

Hawkins wasn’t going to let him skirt the issue. ‘Have you had sex with Sarah?’

‘Yes, as it happens.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘But all occasions have been consensual, and perfectly legal, I might add.’