Mahoney nodded. Still in the scruffy, rancid clothes they’d arrested him in, still smelling of sweat and cigarettes, he slouched on the other side of the interview room table, grinning.

Lucy rolled back the sleeves of her sweater and got the ball rolling. ‘For the benefit of the tape, we’re in Interview Room 3, Robber’s Row police station. I’m DC Lucy Clayburn, in company with acting DC Tessa Payne. This is the interview of Leslie Mahoney. Interview commencing –’ she glanced at the clock on the wall ‘– 11.15pm.’ She watched him carefully. ‘So, Mr Mahoney … how was your day?’

Mahoney guffawed with laughter. ‘That’s a funny one, I must admit.’

‘No more effing and blinding?’

He shrugged. ‘Just caught me at a bad moment, that’s all.’

‘The moment you’re referring to, of course, was the moment when you were arrested outside your home tonight, at 39, Wellspring Lane. Isn’t that correct?’

‘Yeah … that’s correct.’

‘I’m guessing you’re also aware why you’ve been—?’

‘Let’s not fuck about, love. You’ve got me for running professional dog-fights.’

Lucy remained cool. ‘You don’t seem too concerned.’

‘It’s a bang-up job, isn’t it? You caught us at it red-handed, so yes … before we have to go through all that boring question-and-answer shit, I was causing the dogs to fight, I was receiving admission fees from the attendees, I was accepting bets on the outcome, I did possess premises and equipment adapted for use in dog-fighting, I was in possession of videos … and so on and so on.’

He grinned again, showing brown, scummy teeth, his ragged beard dotted with saliva.

‘Where’d you get the dogs from?’ Lucy asked.

‘Don’t own any dogs,’ Mahoney said. ‘I just organise the fights.’

‘I’m not talking about the thirty-plus fighting-dogs we recovered from your property,’ Lucy said. ‘We’ve yet to establish exactly who their owners are. I’m more interested in the seventeen dogs we found in kennels at the back of your barn. And in the thirteen dead dogs we found in what looked like an improvised mortuary.’

‘You’re talking about the bait dogs.’ Mahoney caught Payne’s mingled look of contempt and bewilderment. He chuckled at her. ‘Surprised, darling? I bet most of the poor sods you lock up are rarely this forthcoming, eh?’

‘So where did you get them?’ Lucy asked again.

‘I bought them. Or got them from rescue centres.’

‘So, they are yours?’ Payne said. ‘Even though you just said you don’t own any dogs.’

Mahoney looked amused again. ‘Fuck off, kid … they’re not real dogs, are they? Strays, mutts. God knows what kind of parentage most of them had. Every one a fucking mess.’

‘They were certainly a mess when you’d finished with them,’ she retorted.