‘Is he considered dangerous?’ asked Michelle Tsu.

‘The press release will ask the public not to approach him. There is no history of violence, but he is desperate.’

Carl Hoskins grunted. ‘Yeah, a thirty-foot leap from one balcony to another a hundred and twenty feet off the ground. That’s the definition of desperate, innit?’ he said, turning to Hodges.

‘Spiderman, that’s what the papers will call him,’ Hodges said. ‘Caught in a web of intrigue and homosexual lust.’ He sniggered, rubbing his hands.

‘Colin, grow up,’ Claire said.

The DC turned to Hoskins and offered him a shrug which said: what did I do wrong? Hoskins put an arm around his colleague’s neck and playfully tugged his beard. ‘Dickhead.’

Gillard woke up at 10.45 a.m. in the chief constable’s bedroom at Mount Browne. Not that it really was Alison Rigby’s personal room, but it was the only one of the three rooms at the HQ to be reserved for senior staff, and she had frequently used it. After just over two hours sleep, Gillard didn’t really know what day it was, but he showered and dressed on autopilot, texting a quick apology to Sam for failing to contact her. He saw the fresh shirt and underwear from his locker draped across the chair at the foot of the bed. He didn’t remember fetching them but he must have done.

Half an hour and a bacon sandwich later he was at Epsom police station to meet DI Claire Mulholland, who had arrived at the same time as Harry Roy’s solicitor, a very well-known and expensive brief called Danny Shah. As they walked together down the corridor to the custody suite, Shah gave them a half-dozen crisp, well-argued reasons why Harry Roy should be released immediately on police bail. ‘He’s suffering a great deal of stress,’ Shah said finally.

‘How do you know? You’ve not even seen him yet,’ Gillard responded.

‘He sounded upset on the phone.’

Harry Roy was indeed a dishevelled wreck, looking worse after four hours in the cells than most people did after a week. An incipient beard had appeared almost instantly, his face was grey and pallid and his eyes were bloodshot. He hadn’t eaten anything, and according to the custody sergeant had spent a fair amount of time weeping.

Once they were all together around the interview table, the tape primed and prepped, the prisoner and his brief offered coffee, which the latter was experienced enough to refuse, they got down to business.

‘At this stage, I advise you to say nothing,’ Shah interjected, before Gillard even asked the first question.

‘Why are you holding me?’ Harry asked.

‘Because we are now convinced that Zayan Lal first poisoned then bludgeoned to death your mother. We want to know what you know about it.’

‘That’s ridiculous. He wasn’t even in the country.’ Harry turned to his solicitor. ‘They can’t hold me for this, can they?’

‘Not for too long, no,’ Shah responded.

The detectives had prepared for this denial. Claire Mulholland laid down a series of photocopies of Lal’s flight details. ‘We know you went out to Mumbai together, but he changed his return flight.’ She pointed out each stage in the back-and-forth journey.