The team look at each other, shrug and shake their heads. Archer’s gaze fixes on Hicks who slouches on his chair like a petulant teenage boy. He stares back at her, unblinking. She imagines he is daring her to throw the accusation at him, but she doesn’t. This isn’t the time for squabbling. She has to lead, and lead by example.

Tension quivers in the air and is broken by Klara. ‘I can get Jordan’s profile out today.’

‘Thank you, Klara.’ Archer addresses the room. ‘Earlier in November Elaine Kelly met a man at Infernos nightclub in Clapham. He might be the man we are looking for.’

‘Felton and I know that place,’ says Hicks. ‘We can take a trip down there and look over the CCTV.’

Hicks’s attitude scratches at Archer. Never mind she is still reeling from the article and the fact that he might be responsible but his offer to help throws her despite her suspicion that he has done so because he knows she suspects him.

‘Thank you, Hicks, but Toze needs help at the Steel’s Lane Maternity Hospital. Take Felton with you.’

‘As you wish,’ he replies with a smug look.

Archer grits her teeth.

‘That’s all for now.’

The team disperses and Archer returns to her desk and switches on her computer. She stares at it blankly and then switches it off again. She taps her fingers on the desktop and glances across at Hicks in his office, laughing on the phone.

‘Morning, all!’ hollers Quinn, a grateful interruption from her black mood.

‘Any news?’ asks Archer.

‘Nothing from the Kelly flat. Seems SOCO are running behind. Sorry.’

Archer updates Quinn on her meeting with Jackie Morris and her visit to the maternity hospital.

‘You’ve had a busy morning. What time did you get home last night?’

‘Late. I had a lot to do.’

‘Maybe try and get home early tonight, ma’am.’

‘We’ll see.’

Quinn plops himself down on his chair. ‘So why do you think our killer entered the Kelly flat last night?’

‘Maybe he wanted a souvenir. Something from her bedroom. Maybe there was something incriminating there. Who knows?’

‘He’s got some arrogant balls, so he has, showing up at her flat and painting that graffiti.’

Sergeant Beattie appears. ‘Excuse, ma’am. Thought this might be important.’

‘Yes, Sergeant.’

‘Frank Kelly is here. He’s downstairs.’

*

To Archer’s relief Kelly is in one of the large interview rooms. She and Quinn sit opposite him. He is dishevelled and barely recognisable from his photos. He looks even older in the flesh, his eyes are swollen and puffy, his face blotchy and red.

‘Mr Kelly, you are entitled to a solicitor,’ says Quinn.

‘I don’t want one. I haven’t done anything.’ His voice is harsh and dry, his breath stinks of cheap wine and cigarettes. ‘Where is my son?’

‘We were hoping you might tell us?’ replies Archer.