Mick Tyler was in our interview room, sprawling in his chair, hefty thighs apart, the absolute opposite of Fiona earlier. He couldn’t have given off a less respectful vibe if he’d stuck his boots on the table. A tattoo of barbed wire ringed his neck, and when he blinked you could see that he’d had his eyelids tattooed to look like eyes. He’d stare sightlessly at you even when he was asleep. So, all in all, I wasn’t getting the best vibe off him, but he represented a chance to finally establish what had happened to Violet, and for that I was desperately grateful.

I’d checked Mick’s records and he’d been done for petty theft and minor acts of violence, mainly towards his supposed friends, and had been in prison a few times for short spells. He’d brought a lawyer in, who was only slightly less thick-necked and dodgy-looking than he was.

‘What’s this about?’ the lawyer said, after we’d taken them through the formalities.

Craig spoke at Mick rather than the lawyer. ‘We’d like to know where you were on Sunday night.’

A spasm of relief flashed across Mick’s face. He sat up straighter and corralled the thighs somewhat. ‘With my girl. She can tell you that.’

‘Your girlfriend or your daughter?’ Craig said.

Possibly both, I thought, rather uncharitably.

‘Girlfriend. I was with her all night.’

Lucky woman, being stared at all night by the bloke’s eyelids.

Craig checked the interview plan and then gave Mick an appraising look. ‘And what about Monday? Can you tell us where you were?’

‘Working. What’s this about?’

‘Did you go near Gritton Abattoir?’

‘I do some work for them. I might’ve done.’

‘You’ve been linked with an extremely serious offence.’

Mick’s breathing was coming faster. ‘What offence?’

Craig worked the pause, looking at Mick like a lion about to take down a gazelle. A very ugly gazelle. ‘Somebody saw you in the woods,’ he said. ‘Dumping a bag.’

Mick closed his eyes briefly, showing us his second set of eyes in full creepy technicolour. ‘Bloody hell,’ he spat.

‘What was in the bag?’

Mick shook his head. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t me that did it.’

We all stiffened.

The lawyer said, ‘I’d like a word with—’

‘It’s all right.’ Mick turned to him. ‘I know I was bloody stupid. I panicked. Wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t have anything to do with killing her.’

The lawyer moved his arm towards Mick as if to advise caution. The air in the room felt thick.

‘You’d better explain,’ Craig said.