Lucy glanced sidelong at her. Tessa Payne was a recent recruit to Robber’s Row CID, having done her initial uniform work out of Cotehill Crescent. She was sporty and fit – apparently a top athlete – but was also a college graduate, possessing the sort of sensitivity you rarely found in the police at one time. At present, she seemed calm, but Lucy could tell that she had no love for Les Mahoney.

‘If you’re talking about the dead ones, I was doing them a favour,’ Mahoney said. ‘You think ordinary vets don’t do the same thing … put some creature that’s beyond repair out of its misery?’

‘Ordinary vets normally do it in a clinical environment,’ Payne said. ‘In a humane way.’

Mahoney looked puzzled. ‘What could be more humane than a quick smack on the noggin?’

‘So you’re admitting killing the thirteen dogs in the shed,’ Lucy said.

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘With this?’ She placed the mallet on the table between them. It was now enclosed in a sealed plastic evidence bag.

‘Yep.’ Mahoney didn’t even bother checking it. ‘That’s it.’

‘So, as well as the gym – we saw your swim-tank and your training treadmill – you also provide a bait dog service? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Correct.’

‘Fighting-dog owners come and visit you, and presumably for more cash, you’ll put one of your bait dogs in the pit … so the fighting-dog can get a lot of practice in?’

‘That’s about the gist of it, yeah.’

‘The other dog doesn’t stand a chance, does it?’ Payne said. ‘Don’t bother answering that, by the way … we’ve seen the outcome for ourselves.’

‘Look … why are you pretending you care?’ Again, the prisoner looked amused. ‘You’re a fucking rozzer. Kicking the shit out of people is part of your job description. And that’s people … not dumb fucking animals, brainless mongrels that no one fucking wants.’

‘So, you took possession of them,’ Lucy said, remaining focused. ‘By buying them, or … excuse me if I smirk, rescuing them.’

‘Correct.’

‘All done officially?’ Payne asked.

‘Absolutely. Paperwork straight and everything.’

‘There were certainly some dogs in your kennels that didn’t look as if they’d ever seen the inside of a rescue centre,’ Lucy said.

Mahoney tried to think. ‘Suppose there were one or two pedigrees. Yeah.’

‘Where’d you get those from?’ she asked.

‘Those were the ones I bought. Owners couldn’t look after them any more, or they were moving away, or a family was splitting up or something. Sad, eh? Like it’s not bad enough, the kids seeing their mum and dad separating, and then they get their pets taken off them too. But who cares, really? I mean, come on … pets. Soppy, poofy things. Fucking toys pretending to be dogs.’

‘You bought them?’ Lucy said, seeking confirmation.

‘Again, I’ve got all the documents.’