Standing in Parkside Police Station, Mohammed wished he was at home. It had been a long day and he wanted to be in his kitchen tucking in to one of his wife’s Nigerian stews. Her cooking always reminded him of home and made him feel happy. Working as a taxi driver wasn’t his ambition and he struggled to cope with the drunks he found himself ferrying on Friday and Saturday nights. On more than one occasion he had ended up cleaning sick from the back seats of his Ford people carrier. It was not the life he had envisaged, but his children were happy and getting a good education; so, like any good father, he carried on regardless and made sure to smile.

When Barrett and Palmer arrived in reception to welcome him he gave a warm handshake. All day, he’d been doing his best to try to remember the face of the man he was there to describe. He remembered noticing the face that night, because there was something unusual about it, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was that was strange.

‘Thank you for coming.’ Palmer could tell the man was nervous. ‘Please come this way.’

Palmer led the way to the interview room followed by Mohammed and Barrett. Inside, the sketch artist and interpreter were waiting patiently. The problem with Mohammed’s English wasn’t that he didn’t have a good grasp of the language but rather his accent and pronunciation made it hard for some to understand. Given that his description of the suspect would play a key part in the case, the inspectors both thought the presence of the interpreter was worthwhile.

The interview didn’t take long. Mohammed explained that he’d collected Wendy and the suspect from the taxi rank near St Andrew, the Great Church on Regent Street, and had driven them both to New Barn in Ickleton. He told the inspectors that he thought she appeared rather drunk. The male, whose face Mohammed only saw briefly, had sat in the taxi facing the boot of the car. Barrett felt his heart sink with that disclosure, but as Mohammed recounted the details concerning the suspect’s height, and a description of the coat the man was wearing, he allowed himself a glimmer of hope.

With awe and fascination Barrett and Palmer remained silent when the sketch artist started work. After an hour they had an E-fit of their suspect, but Mohammed wasn’t entirely happy.

‘It was sort of like that,’ he said frowning at the picture. ‘Difficult to remember. So many faces I see.’ He adjusted his porkpie hat.

‘You’ve been extremely helpful.’ Barrett shook Mohammed’s hand enthusiastically before showing the gentleman back to reception.

‘So, we have our man,’ Palmer said holding the sketch and examining it.

‘We have a man,’ Barrett corrected.