Wayne Sugden hadn’t wanted to come to the station to be interviewed. It was understandable. He had been out of prison only two weeks, and the cells in the detention suite at Edendale carried bad memories for him. But in the end, they had just put him in an interview room, where Diane Fry and DI Hitchens found him bubbling with fear and anger.

‘You can’t leave people alone, can you? Once you’ve got a downer on a bloke, that’s it. Am I going to get this for the rest of my life? I’d be better off back inside.’

‘Let’s just calm down, Mr Sugden,’ said Hitchens. ‘We only want a chat.’

‘Oh, yeah? I know your chats. I’m saying nothing. Not a word. Fetch me a solicitor.’

Sugden could just about qualify as a match for the description given by Jenny’s neighbour. He was about five foot eight, a little overweight from his spell of prison food and lack of exercise, with pale eyes and hair the colour of Dettol. His accent was certainly local. Maybe he could even dress respectably sometimes – when he finally put those jeans and the stained black sweatshirt in the wash.

‘I know my rights,’ he said. ‘It’s on the card. Here, you haven’t shown me the card. I can make a complaint, you know.’

Fry couldn’t raise any sympathy for Sugden. Maybe if she had just been released from prison herself, the last person she would have wanted to see was a policeman, and the last place she would have wanted to be was Edendale police station. But then, she would have thought of that in the first place before she got herself sent down for burglary.

‘We’re trying to eliminate as many people as possible from a current enquiry, Mr Sugden,’ she said. ‘We just want to ask you a few simple questions.’

Sugden smiled bitterly. ‘Nothing’s simple in this life. Your lot taught me that, at least. You made my life bloody complicated.’

‘Wednesday 22nd October, Mr Sugden,’ said Hitchens.

‘What about it?’

‘Where were you that night?’

‘Can’t remember.’

‘You were only just out of prison. You were released the previous day. If it were me, I’d remember exactly what I was doing in my first days of freedom.’

‘I expect I went for a drink,’ said Sugden. ‘To celebrate.’

‘Anywhere nice? I’m always open to recommendations.’

‘A couple of pubs I know in Edendale.’

‘On your own?’ asked Fry.

‘I met up with a few people, said hello. Come to think of it, they bought me a few drinks. They all knew I’d been set up something rotten.’

‘What it is to have friends,’ said Hitchens. ‘What time did you go to Sheffield?’

‘Eh? I never went to Sheffield. I told you – just the pubs in town.’

‘Do you know a place called Totley?’

‘I’ve heard of it,’ said Sugden cautiously.