‘If you disbelieve that, I suggest you try taking a pistol shot to the collar-bone yourself, Detective Superintendent Nehwal. See what impact it has on you.’

‘I’ll pass,’ Nehwal said, watching him carefully. ‘But the thing is … what I have real trouble believing is your assertion that you’ve got no idea who it was who whisked you away from the restaurant and dropped you off here.’

‘Your mysterious kitchen witness can’t assist with that?’

‘Sadly, he’d gone to get help. When he came back with others, you’d already gone. As had your assailant.’

He made a gesture. ‘One of life’s good Samaritans, I guess.’

‘The vehicle that dropped you off at the hospital was caught on several different surveillance cameras and identified. But it was one that had been stolen several months ago in Burnley. We’ve found no trace of it since. Likewise, we’ve found no trace of your rather swish Bentley. It certainly wasn’t in the car park, where you supposedly left it.’

McCracken responded with a helpless shrug. ‘Perhaps not quite so good a Samaritan then.’

He gave Lucy a brief stare, and she had to avert her eyes. She’d never felt worse as a policewoman, standing here alongside her boss, knowing full well what really happened after the Crowley Old Hall shooting, and not just keeping schtum about it, but allowing her superior to continue the line of questioning, inadvertently making a complete fool of her.

‘You’ve nothing else to add?’ Nehwal said.

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Well … in that case there’s nothing else to ask. We’ll leave you in peace.’

McCracken nodded and gave them a genial smile.

‘But I will send word when we get the result of that ballistics test,’ Nehwal said from the doorway. ‘I’m sure you’re dying to know the outcome.’

It was late morning when Lucy and Nehwal returned to Robber’s Row. There was minimal space on the personnel car park, lots of bodies from the Serious Crimes Division having arrived. Nehwal, already gabbling on the phone, went upstairs to the Incident room to brief her team. Lucy would have gone with her, but Tessa Payne accosted her in the corridor outside the DO, waving two sheets of print-out.

‘Lucy, you sent a request to the forensics lab last night, concerning an attack on a homeless person?’

‘They’ve done it already?’

‘Sounds like they’re clearing the decks now there’s been a double murder on the patch.’

‘Okay, so what’ve we got?’

‘A result … of sorts.’ Payne handed the paper over. It comprised two rap-sheets. ‘I took the liberty of pulling these off the system for you. The one on top is the one you’re looking for. It was her DNA under the assault victim’s fingernail. Very minor form, though.’