‘Technically speaking, Detective, these nurses are not employed by me. These women are not my staff. They come from an employment agency. They are employed by that agency. So if there are issues with work permits, residency visas and so on, then you will need to take it up with the employment agency. It’s the agency’s job to vet them. Not mine.’

He looked at me like a man who knows his hands are clean.

‘That ruse would work if it was just some migrant worker scam,’ I said. ‘It would work – and work well – if it were some cleaning jobs in London or a bit of potato picking in East Anglia. But the bodies are piling up. It’s gone too far for anyone to just get a slap on the wrist for lacking the right stamp in their passport. Too many women have died, Warboys. And you’re the man who shipped them in.’

We stared at each other.

And he still wasn’t afraid. He exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Believe me, I can see the attraction. Your nurses work harder, cheaper and better than the locals. They do their job with good grace. It can’t be easy, looking after people who are in their final years. And I can see that they are all highly qualified and motivated. But I bet that when we round up the staff here – and at all your other retirement communities – they will all have entered this country in the back of a lorry. Every single one of them.’

He looked out of his window. The Bentley was without its driver.

‘Doherty’s not coming,’ I said. ‘Your man did a runner. Why did you have him burn down the Champagne Room?’

His jaw tightened, the blood slowly draining from his face.

‘I was nowhere near that fire.’

‘Oh, I don’t doubt your alibi is first class. My guess? It was all getting a bit too hardcore for your son, Steve. I met him a couple of times – but Steve wasn’t quite as hard as he wanted to be, was he? Were you trying to shut him up? Was he going to go to the law about the lorries that were being unloaded out the back? Or did he just want you to stop using his car park for your filthy little business?’

He sucked on his cigar as if it was the cure for something.

He took his time exhaling and the smoke drifted from his half-open mouth as if he was releasing something that had been locked up deep inside for a long time. I believed that there would be no more empty denials. Barry Warboys was ready to talk.