‘Good, because you were meant to.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he had the photograph facing towards us. We could see it, but he couldn’t. Doesn’t that tell you anything?’

Cooper thought about it. ‘If his family were really so important to him, the photo would have been facing the other way, so he could look at it. But it was aimed at his visitors – part of the office décor, designed to impress.’

‘Exactly. Mr Yates was sending out a message. He was saying “Look at me, I’m the perfect family man. You can trust me. Give me your business.” It only needs a few simple things to create a false image.’

Fry stood over the hospital bed and smiled. ‘Mr Mullen, I understand you’re about to be discharged. That’s good news.’

‘Yes, I’m not feeling too bad now. I can’t stay in this bed any longer – there are things to sort out. Henry and Moira have been brilliant, but there’s Luanne. She needs her dad.’

‘I understand. Are you going to stay with Mr and Mrs Lowther in Darley Dale?’

‘Yes, until I can get something else arranged.’

‘Well, Mr Mullen, we’ll need you to come back to Darwin Street as soon as you feel well enough.’

‘I’m not going to start sorting the place out yet. I can’t face that.’

‘No, of course not. But we’d like you to take us over the ground – you’re the only person who was familiar with the contents of your house.’

‘Contents? Like what?’

‘We’ll go into all that when we’re on site. We also have some photos for you to look at.’

Mullen looked anxious. ‘Not –?’

‘No.’ Fry shook her head. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t explain that very well. I meant photographs of items that we recovered near the seat of the fire. It’s important for us to establish if there was anything in the sitting room that shouldn’t have been there.’

‘All right. I see what you’re getting at.’

‘When do you think you could do that?’

Mullen looked at his bandaged hands. ‘As long as you don’t expect me to sign anything, I reckon I could do it now. Best to get it over with, eh?’

Fry felt like smiling at him for the first time. ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll have a word with your doctor. If I can get his agreement, we’ll do it today. OK?’

Eric Grice laid down his electric drill and blew stone dust off the wall. As he wiped a film of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he left a small streak of dust on his temple.

‘And I suppose you’re flummoxed,’ he said.

‘Flummoxed? That’s an interesting word, Mr Grice. People usually say the police are baffled.’

‘Aye. But flummoxed is worse.’