‘I’ve already given a statement, you know.’

‘An initial statement, yes. But that was only the start of our enquiries. There are a lot more questions to be asked.’

Mullen lay back on his pillows and sighed. ‘Oh God, I suppose it’s necessary.’

‘If we’re going to find out what happened, it is.’

‘Tell me something, though – is Luanne all right?’

‘Your daughter, sir?’

‘Yes. Is she safe?’

‘She’s with your in-laws. There’s no need to worry about her. Why shouldn’t she be safe?’

‘I don’t know. She’s only eighteen months old.’

‘A family liaison officer has been assigned. There’ll be support from Social Services, too, if it’s needed.’

‘Right.’

Fry watched his bandaged hands twitching, his eyes roving anxiously around the room. She was puzzled by his reactions. But Brian Mullen was a victim right now, a bereaved relative. Protocol called for politeness and consideration. Perhaps she ought to have brought him some grapes.

‘Your daughter wasn’t in the house at the time of the fire, was she?’

‘No. Henry and Moira had been looking after her for a few days, to give us a bit of respite. Luanne wasn’t sleeping, you see. She was having us out of bed every couple of hours.’

‘I don’t have children myself, but isn’t eighteen months quite old to be still having that problem?’

‘It varies.’

‘Did your wife take anything to help her sleep, Mr Mullen?’

‘Well, she couldn’t when Luanne was in the house, obviously.’

‘But on Sunday?’

‘Yes, I think she might have done. A couple of pills, maybe.’

‘Any idea what she took?’

He shook his head, and Fry decided to leave it for a while. She could easily get the information from Lindsay’s GP – or even from her bedside drawer.

‘As for you, I believe you’d been out for the evening?’

‘I won’t ever be able to forgive myself for that. I should have been there with my family. I could have saved them, couldn’t I?’

‘Probably not, Mr Mullen. You could have ended up a fatality yourself.’

‘I’ve been lying here thinking it would have been better if I had died with them. To have survived seems . . . well, it seems like a punishment somehow.’

Fry nodded cautiously. Statements like this always sounded false to her. She couldn’t help thinking that Brian Mullen had been rehearsing the phrases in his head for maximum effect. But her instinct was sometimes wrong – there were people who had difficulty expressing the most genuine emotions in a convincing way. On the other hand, Mullen had also tried to divert her from her line of questioning.

‘Who were you out with that night, sir?’

‘Just some mates.’

‘Anyone in particular?’

‘Oh, my mate from work, Jed – Jed Skinner.’

‘And you arrived home at about one thirty a.m. Is that right?’