‘My brother-in-law. He works here. So Mr Hamilton is drunk and waiting for his kebab, which Yusuf is fixing. His mouth is jabbering on and on and Yusuf and I look at each other. So he says to Yusuf this place – his flat – is a shithole and that one day he will write his book, make a fortune and be out of here. Yusuf laugh, give him his kebab and he leaves without paying. I see him like that with other people too.’ Bahadir leans across and whispers conspiratorially, ‘He’s not a popular man, Detective.’

‘Does anyone else have the keys to Mr Hamilton’s flat?’

‘No. Just me.’

‘Would I be right in thinking the flat is accessible from the rear fire escape?’

‘Yes, but tenants are not allowed on it. It’s not safe.’

Archer takes out her phone and opens up a browser and searches for Lewis Faulkner. She clicks on a picture and shows it to Bahadir. ‘Do you recognise this man?’

Bahadir leans in for a closer look. ‘Yes, I see him on the television.’

‘Has he ever been to visit Mr Hamilton?’

He considers this for a moment before saying, ‘I don’t believe so. I would remember.’

‘Thank you, Mr Bahadir.’

It’s almost 5 a.m. when Archer and Quinn leave the kebab shop and get into the car.

‘So we’re none the wiser,’ says Quinn.

‘We learned a few things. Our killer, Lewis Faulkner aka @nonymous, is the sensitive type who doesn’t like being mocked. All serial killers want to be recognised for what they do. They crave notoriety and recognition. The difference with him is he sees himself as an artist. He lives for praise and he seeks it out wherever he can find it: online, on the news and in the papers.’

‘Woe betide anyone who criticises or humiliates him or his work. Safe to assume our killer didn’t finger Hamilton as part of an exhibition?’

‘Nice pun,’ says Archer.

‘Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.’

‘Hamilton was forced to apologise live on his Facebook page. He was murdered because of the articles he wrote about the killer. This was a revenge killing.’

‘I must say I wouldn’t have pegged him as a Daily Mail reader.’

‘Me neither. I’d say he’s more the broadsheet type. Anyway, indulge me and for the moment let’s set aside the fact that the victims are people. Think of them as works of art. They are full of contradictions. Each piece contains a semi-naked body. Simple, striking and disturbing with an otherworldly beauty.’

Quinn shrugs. ‘They’re a mixed bag.’