‘You see, several eyewitnesses have testified that you’ve been living in a flat belonging to him on the Ocean Estate for around a year. The new, luxury ones, where we arrested you. So, would you like to try that question again? Do you recognise him?’

‘No comment.’

‘Mr Taylor, could you make sure your client knows that it may harm his defence if he later relies on something which he hasn’t mentioned during questioning. I’m sure you understand the middle part of the police caution, but does he?’

The solicitor leant towards Hayes and delivered a few curt sentences to him.

‘Yeah, I know him,’ Hayes snarled.

‘By what name?’

‘Tomasz Feldman.’

‘Have you been paying to live in his flat?’

Hayes scoffed. ‘You from the Housing Benefit Office or something?’

‘It’s a simple question. You either have or haven’t been paying to live there. Which is it?’

Hayes looked at his solicitor for a steer. The man nodded.

‘I have.’

‘If we checked your bank accounts, would we find a regular amount being paid from you to him?’

‘Good luck with that,’ he sneered.

‘Why’s that? Did you pay him in cash?’

‘When I paid him.’ He scoffed.

‘Where did you get that cash?’

‘I have a little flutter on the horses, don’t I? Get lucky sometimes. Know what I mean?’

‘I see.’ I deliberately stretched my pause out. ‘When our officers searched the flat, where you’ve been living, they found a Glock 19 with your fingerprints on it. What can you tell us about that?’

‘No comment.’

Jackie’s body twitched next to me.

‘It has no-one else’s fingerprints on it,’ I said.

‘State your question, DI Rahman, please.’ The solicitor’s voice creaked with anticipation.

‘If we tested it, other than fingerprints, what do you think we may have found on it?’

‘No idea.’

‘Might the gun have had blood, skin cells and tissue on it?’

‘No comment.’

‘What about cells which belong to Ali Kousa, the Syrian boy you groomed into crime and then shot? Would it have those?’

‘I take it you have evidence for these allegations, Inspector?’ Taylor asked.

‘I do.’ I slid another image across the table. ‘This boy. We have lots of witnesses who confirm that you know him, so please don’t bother trying to deny you do.’

Hayes was staring at the ceiling now, lounging back in his chair with his arms folded. I could see the angry tattoo on his neck, and as he spoke his skin parted round the colours and patterns like ugly sores.

‘I’m trying to figure out why, though. Why would you assassinate a ten-year-old boy who’s a homeless asylum seeker? Who’s here without any family or money?’

‘They’re filthy street rats,’ he hissed. ‘That’s why.’