Just before 10.30 p.m. Niall Paternoster and Joseph Rattigan had completed their private conference ahead of his initial police interview at Brighton custody centre.

This would be the first of several interviews to be carried out over the next couple of days, following a strategy Norman Potting and Jon Exton had agreed with a tier five interview adviser, DC Alec Butler. The adviser’s role was to agree the strategy with the SIO and deal with not only the questioning of the suspect but also those that required special consideration or were deemed to be significant witnesses – sigwits.

Potting and Exton led Paternoster and his solicitor into the interview room. For the next forty-five minutes, they first went over in detail Paternoster’s initial account of his version of what had happened the previous day. Then they covered the couple’s background, relationship, financial status and current domestic situation.

The interview concluded with Potting leaning across the table towards the suspect. ‘Mr Paternoster, we’ve taken note of all you’ve said. The purpose of this initial interview has been to enable you to give a full account and your version of events prior to your wife’s disappearance. But you need to know that police officers have checked the CCTV at the Tesco Holmbush store, both inside and out, as well as showing your wife’s photograph to every staff member who was working there. There is no sign on any CCTV footage of your wife being in the store and no member of staff recalls seeing her.’

Paternoster turned, bewildered, to his solicitor. ‘This is crazy! It just can’t be – it doesn’t make any sense.’

Rattigan nodded, eyes wide open and vacant, like a zombie that wasn’t home.

‘We will continue with our second interview at 9.45 a.m. tomorrow,’ Potting said. Then, speaking to the mic, he added, ‘First interview with Niall Paternoster terminated at 11.22 p.m.’ He stopped the recording.

30

Monday 2 September

Roy Grace arrived home just before midnight, but despite being tired, his brain was buzzing. He now had more than enough to put a sock – or rather a blood-spotted T-shirt – in Cassian Pewe’s mouth tomorrow. And he dearly wished he’d have the opportunity to shove that torch right up his jacksie.

Humphrey greeted him at the front door with a chewed-up pink unicorn in his mouth, stuffing tumbling from its ripped-open midriff all over the floor. He let him out into the balmy, warm air and the light of a near-full moon, and took him for a short walk along the cart track that was their drive. As he walked and the dog ran off after a scent, Grace breathed in the delicious, sweet smells of freshly mown grass and of the surrounding countryside that he loved so much. Strange to think, as he did this time each year, that the nights were starting to draw in and autumn was on its way.

A bat flitted overhead. He could hear the distant baa-ing and bleating of sheep. He really fancied a drink and suddenly a cigarette, too – which he hadn’t had for ages – but decided against both. He needed to get some sleep, as tomorrow, with all they’d found tonight at the Paternosters’ house, promised to be a long day. But he hoped the brief walk might be enough to settle both Humphrey and himself.