‘Peterson? Any coppers with that name? In Kirklees?’

‘Dunno. We don’t have joint ops yet. No access to their system. Any road, Rita’ll be looking into that.’

Joe thought about it.

‘OK, so let’s assume they got Beverage to the park by pretending to be a police officer. I still want to speak to Daz and Ranksy.’

Merchant shrugged.

‘They’re not in the frame for Beverage. Plus, they’re a couple of ball-less tossers. Always have been.’

‘What? You know ’em?’

‘Yeah, I used to play rugby with Daz. And Ranksy? He’s just a bell-end. Y’know, if…’

‘If you come from Batley.’

Merchant met his stare.

‘Aye, if you come from Batley.’

Joe turned to his screen, keen to write up the notes from his interview with Turner while it was fresh in his mind.

‘What’s the news on joint ops?’ he asked as he typed.

‘Still waiting. Gonna be a single inquiry, once the brass’ve finished their rounds of friggin’ golf. Apart from that,’ he said, shaking his phone, ‘we got a lot of interest on the twattersphere.’

‘Don’t tell me, the general public want us to give the killer a medal. No, on better thoughts, don’t tell me.’

‘He’s got a name now. The Graphite Assassin!’

‘That information was supposed to be kept back. Who the f—’

‘Kirklees, eh? You can’t trust that lot.’

‘Ah, hell! Better get this onto the system. I’ll explain as I type. Mr Leo Turner, a.k.a. the Professor…’

By the time the report was finished and uploaded, Merchant was sitting next to Joe, and his frivolity had dissipated. They had a main suspect.

‘I dunno, is it a match?’ Merchant said, as Joe held his phone up next to the monitor and they compared Turner’s bike with a screen shot from the footage of the bike racing away from Shaw’s burning car on Thursday evening.

‘Looks a decent fit to me.’

‘The back light’s different. You sure there was no residue?’

‘From the tape? I couldn’t feel any on the crossbar. I didn’t want to arouse his suspicions. Forensics might say different. And the light could’ve been changed.’

‘Or he could have another bike? He’s a lawyer. He’s smart enough to use a different bike.’

Joe nodded. ‘Probably smart enough to get rid of it as well.’

There was only one way to find out: they had to search the Turner residence.

‘Question is—’ Joe began.

‘Question is,’ Merchant interrupted, looking at his watch, ‘we only get one shot. And it’s gotta be now.’

Joe’s heart sank, just a touch.

‘Asking for a warrant on a Sunday afternoon, on flimsy evidence? Who’s the sitting magistrate?’

‘Makes no difference,’ Merchant said. ‘We don’t have enough to take it to Andy.’

Joe sat back, looked at the ceiling.