‘I was beginning to think you weren’t going to answer,’ said the detective. ‘Should I call you Mr Heath? Or is there another name you’d prefer me to use?’

Heath took a sudden backward step as the pig detective continued to stare at him, holding his gaze. He knew in that instant that she was suspicious. She looked scared. But there was a determination too. Some victims folded, and others fought. Piggy was a fighter. It was written all over her piggy face.

‘Mr Heath is just fine, thank you. I’m a busy man. There are things I need to get on with. Now, how can I help you?’

‘I’m investigating Lottie Weller’s disappearance. There are some questions I need to ask you. I’d be glad of your co-operation.’

Heath considered plunging the blade deep into her gut and twisting right there and then. But a small part of him still hoped she’d leave. Killing a pig was never part of the plan, however potentially satisfying. ‘What the hell do you want? Say whatever you’ve come to say and go. You’ve called at a most inconvenient time.’

But she didn’t leave. She stood there staring into his face with accusing eyes which seemed to see everything. Heath threw the matches aside and then removed the wig, flinging it to the floor to the side of the door.

‘Can I come in, please, Mr Heath? I’m looking for Megan Weller. I understand she’s a friend of yours. You spoke to her by phone earlier this morning. I believe she may be here.’

He tightened his grip on the knife, itching to use it, but still cautious. His loathing for the pig officer was increasing. He imagined her head on a spike and smiled. ‘Have you got a warrant?’

‘No, no, I haven’t, but I could get one quickly enough. Best get this done, don’t you think?’

Heath looked back at the detective with a newfound confidence. He snorted, laughing as he prepared to close the door. ‘Stop wasting my time. Go away while you still can.’

The detective took a backward step, her body rigid. ‘Is that a threat, Mr Heath?’

‘You haven’t got a warrant. I want you to go. What part of that don’t you understand?’

There was a sudden shout from upstairs as Kesey was about to walk away. A cry fraught with fear. ‘Help! We’re up here, help! We’re in the attic!’

Heath attempted to slam the door shut, his sense of panic evident. But Kesey was quick to react. She rushed towards him, shrieking loudly when the door’s hard wooden edge collided violently with her knee. She kicked out, hitting the door open and Heath backwards, and then loomed over him as he fell to the tiled floor. Heath scuttled back on his backside and then jumped to his feet as his adversary came after him.

He waited until Kesey was only inches away, before drawing his arm back and striking with the knife, slashing a deep three-inch gash in her right arm just above the elbow. Heath turned and ran for the staircase as Kesey kicked out again, knocking the weapon in his bloody hand with a well-aimed and forceful strike of her foot. He winced, screwing up his face as he continued fleeing, but he somehow held onto the weapon, one finger broken.