He had to admit, Paula was good. She’d asked the question in such a way that he could answer honestly without dropping her further in the shit. It was in nobody’s interest right now for him to reveal she’d taken him to Nadia’s flat. It would simply muddy the waters. He’d worn gloves so there would be no prints and he hadn’t done anything to shed significant DNA there. Really, they should be in the clear. For now, at least.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said. He pulled Nadia’s picture closer. ‘She looks familiar. Actually, they both do. But I can’t place either of them. I’m sorry.’ He looked up, giving his best little-boy-lost. ‘Bev worked at Bradfield Cross, right? They call me in for a psych consult from time to time. And occasionally I have meetings there. I might have run into her there. But I can’t be certain.’

Fielding took another two pieces of paper from her folder and looked at them. ‘You’re an only child, is that right?’

‘Why is that relevant?’

‘Just answer, please.’

‘Yes. I am an only child as far as I’m aware.’

‘As far as you’re aware?’

He shrugged. ‘None of us can ever be certain of that. But I was brought up as an only child and I’ve no reason to think otherwise. Why do you care?’

Fielding set the two sheets of paper in front of Tony. The names had been blanked out with Post-it notes. ‘Do you know what these are?’

He glanced down at the graphs with their jagged peaks. ‘They look like DNA profiles.’

‘This one came from the National DNA Database. And this one came from a bloodstain on Nadia Wilkowa’s jacket. Even as a layperson, you can see the similarities,’ Fielding said. ‘Would you agree?’

‘I’ve no expertise in this area,’ Tony said cautiously. It was dawning on him that something more serious than fucking up Paula was going on here.

‘The reason for the similarities is that there’s a genetic relationship between these two people. What we call a familial relationship. A is the mother of B. Would you like to guess who A is?’

He met Fielding’s level, triumphant gaze. ‘No.’

‘It’s Vanessa Hill. Your mother. And this is presumably you. Can you explain how your blood came to be on the cuff of Nadzieja Wilkowa’s jacket?’

It was as if someone had punched him hard in the chest. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Then the adrenalin rush of fear surged through him, switching his senses on full alert. His brain raced frantically, synapses firing crazily, rifling through his store of memories to find this woman. He knew he was innocent, so he knew the answer had to be in there somewhere.