Issa’s face grew visibly paler. It wasn’t something Hanson had seen very often, a draining away of blood. One of those often-described and rarely experienced occurrences.

‘No, it’s not his.’ He swallowed. ‘Why are you showing me this? Was this what killed him? Of course it wasn’t his. Of course it wasn’t. Why would he have a knife?’

‘It’s surprisingly common for people who carry knives to end up killed by them,’ the chief said in a sympathetic tone.

‘He’s never carried a knife in his life,’ Issa said. ‘He was a hardcore pacifist.’

‘He wouldn’t have bought it just for the look of it?’ Sheens asked. ‘It’s a beautifully made piece.’

‘That isn’t beautiful,’ Issa said, his eyes gleaming and his jaw set. ‘That’s a monstrosity.’

Lightman managed to get through to the DCI some fifteen minutes after leaving Niall Reakes in a relatives’ room with a cup of black coffee. The call was picked up quickly this time, and he could hear background engine noises. He explained that Mr Reakes was demanding to see both his wife’s solicitor and the DCI.

‘Let him talk to Patrick Moorcroft,’ the chief said, after a moment of thought. ‘But inform him that any conversation between them will not be protected under client–solicitor confidentiality, as the solicitor is not, in fact, representing Mr Reakes.’

‘And presumably you’d like me in the observation room while they talk?’

‘You bet I would,’ Sheens confirmed. ‘We’ll be back in twenty or so minutes and I’ll probably talk to him then. And keep me posted if the super calls through to the office. I want to know if we have our thirty-six hours. Thanks, Ben.’

Louise Reakes and her solicitor were sitting in what seemed to be a strained silence. The solicitor was reading something that presumably pertained to her case, while Louise was brushing a strand of hair back and forth across her mouth, her eyes wide and unfocused.

‘Mr Reakes has arrived,’ Lightman said, and Louise immediately stood, her chair making a loud, low-pitched screech across the lino floor. ‘He’s asked to see you, Mr Moorcroft.’

Patrick looked up at Lightman, his brow creased. He glanced briefly at his client, and then said, ‘In what capacity?’

‘An unofficial one.’

Louise stared at her solicitor while he reflected. As he moved to rise, she said, ‘I need to see him. I’m the one who needs to talk to him.’

‘I can explain the details of your case to him,’ Patrick said, soothingly. He lifted his briefcase onto his chair and began methodically sliding his papers back into it.

‘That’s not the same,’ Louise countered. ‘He’ll think … I need to explain it all to him.’