‘Hold on,’ the woman said and she disappeared, leaving the door ajar. Minutes later a man in cargo shorts and a Motörhead vest top appeared, the woman hovering from a door at the end of the hall. Clare studied him. He was clean-shaven, his hair closely cropped, his forearms tattooed. She squinted at the tattoos but she couldn’t make out what they depicted.

He stared at them then he seemed to recognise Chris. ‘DS… West?’ he said.

Chris nodded. ‘And my boss, DI Clare Mackay.’

Clare was watching Mark Mooney and she saw a faint flicker in his eyes when Chris introduced her. ‘Is there somewhere we could talk?’

He turned without a word and led them up the hall into a cheerful room that bore the detritus of family life. The walls were white, lined with bookshelves, either side of an open fireplace. Through the window, framed by poppy-patterned curtains, Clare could see the two boys bouncing high on the trampoline. She turned back to Mark and smiled. ‘Do you mind if we sit down?’

He indicated a red sofa and waited for them to sit. Then he perched on the edge of an easy chair. He looked at Clare again and raised an eyebrow.

‘I understand you spoke to DS West, here, following the death of Mr Russell Fox on Saturday morning.’

Mark’s hand went to his chin. ‘Yeah. Awful thing to happen. I’m not sure what else I can tell you, though.’

Clare said, ‘You told DS West there was a pizza delivery, around seven.’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘And you also said there were no other vehicles. Is that correct?’

Mark looked over their shoulders for a moment as if watching the boys on the trampoline. ‘Far as I remember.’

Chris glanced at Clare. ‘That’s not what you said, Mark. If I recall, you were quite definite about it.’

He turned back and met Chris’s eye. ‘Well, yeah, then. I didn’t see another van.’

Clare watched him carefully. ‘DS West didn’t mention a van.’ She decided there was no point in wasting any further time. ‘I’d like you to think again about that, Mark. Think carefully. Were there any other vehicles that night, after the pizzas arrived?’

He hesitated.

‘It’s a murder investigation,’ Clare went on. ‘And, if you prefer, we can continue this at the station. But I’m sure you’d rather we sorted it out now.’ She glanced at the sitting room door, still ajar, and wondered if the woman was listening.

As if he saw what she was thinking Mark rose and closed the door softly. ‘I think I do remember another vehicle,’ he said, avoiding Clare’s eye.

‘And?’

‘Dark van. Came up the drive about eight, I think.’

‘Were you expecting it?’

He nodded.

‘Who told you?’

‘That was Mr Gerrard. The goatee beard lad.’

‘And what exactly did Mr Gerrard say about it?’