‘Calm down, Jason,’ Claire said. Behind Waddington, the door of the interview room opened, and the custody sergeant showed in a young pale woman, whom he introduced as the duty solicitor.

Waddington continued to rant while they were preparing the tape recorder and getting their notes in order. The solicitor clarified with Claire that Waddington had not been charged, and established that he had been offered something to eat both soon after arrest and this morning. The formalities completed, Gillard began. ‘Okay, Jason, where were you at seven thirty in the morning on Sunday?’

‘At home in bed.’

‘Is there anyone who would corroborate that story?’ Claire asked.

‘My girlfriend, obviously.’ He folded his arms, as if that was the safest of alibis.

Claire took down the details and address of the woman.

‘What did you do after I had taken your statement and you left at the Three Feathers on Saturday night?’ Gillard asked.

‘I went down A&E with Paul.’

‘I take it that is Paul Welby?’ Claire asked.

‘Yeah. He was in a right state. Suspected broken jaw.’

‘What time did you leave the hospital?’ Gillard asked.

‘What the fuck do you care?’

‘Don’t be difficult, Jason,’ Claire said.

‘I stayed there maybe an hour, then I drove home.’

‘Sober?’

‘Too right, by then. Nothing sobers you up faster than seeing your mate getting kicked in the head. I’d only had a couple anyway.’

‘Do you know Ashtead Common at all?’ Gillard asked.

‘Yeah, obviously. I live around the corner, don’t I? I go running there most days.’

‘Do you know this woman?’ He passed across a publicity photograph of Mrs Roy.

‘Obviously. I heard about the killing, and I seen her on the telly. But I’ve never seen her face-to-face and just so you know, I didn’t kill her, right?’

‘So why is there some of your DNA on her raincoat?’ Gillard asked.

‘You what?’ His mouth hung open.

‘You heard correctly,’ Gillard said. ‘I took a swab from your mouth, to eliminate you from all the suspects in the pub fight, and it just happens to match a hair we found on that raincoat.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘DNA doesn’t lie, my friend,’ Gillard said. ‘Now, do you own a bicycle?’

Waddington stared belligerently at the two detectives. ‘Obviously. I work at a fucking bike shop, don’t I?’

Prisha Roy had asked liaison officer Gabby Underwood for a private meeting with the officer in charge of the investigation. Gillard had agreed to meet her, although he was a little surprised that she suggested that they meet at the Orion Hotel near Heathrow Airport. He was less than impressed when she left him kicking his heels in reception for forty minutes before she arrived. Even the receptionist had given him a funny look when he said he was there to meet Ms Roy.

‘Do you want me to show you to the Buttermere Suite?’ she asked.

‘No, I’ll wait for her here.’ He took a seat in the lounge, but wouldn’t have been a detective had he not spotted from the corner of his eye that the two female receptionists were discussing him. One of them giggled as she left to go into a back room.