‘What’s this “eventual” arrival of the police?’ Gillard said. ‘We had a CSI officer there within one minute!’

Claire rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Craig, this is just froth. Don’t take it personally. We’re nearly there, aren’t we? All the evidence is building up.’

‘Not quite enough.’ Gillard looked at his watch. It was 5.53 p.m. and there were no results from the lab. ‘I’ll ring them to see what the hold-up is.’

The detective rang, and his call transferred automatically to the out-of-hours extension. He left a message, but knew then that with only a few minutes left to charge or release Jason Waddington, he had no alternative.

‘Okay Claire, no results on the DNA, but let’s charge him anyway.’

Chapter 9

Friday

Gillard was accompanied by DC Colin Hodges for the eight a.m. interview of Jason Waddington. If they could get a confession from him before he was taken to the magistrates at ten, that would lift all the pressure. If not, there was always a chance that the request for a remand would be denied. The custody sergeant had already warned them that Waddington was a bundle of fury. The moment the two detectives walked into the interview room, they could see for themselves that the prisoner had not been calmed down by another night in the cells.

The swearing began as soon as Waddington clapped eyes on Gillard, and went on for a couple of minutes as he called him every name under the sun.

‘You don’t know who did it, so you’re bloody fitting me up. It’s an excuse for you lot being crap at your jobs.’ Waddington’s finger jabbed towards the DCI in time with every word. The veins were standing out on his forehead, and his teeth were bared. Gillard and Hodges tensed, in case Waddington tried to have a go. He had form for that.

‘I’d advise you to calm down,’ said Gillard, as the duty solicitor, a dishevelled young man who looked like he had slept in his suit, wandered in with a large takeaway coffee and a battered briefcase. Waddington glowered at the detectives as they set up the tape recorder, answered the solicitor’s questions and ran through the introduction for the recording.

Finally Gillard began: ‘Jason, I’d like to ask you to account for all the time between your presence in the Feathers public house on Saturday and midday the following day.’

‘I told you all that before. I got nothing to say.’ He folded his arms and looked with disdain at the solicitor sitting next to him. ‘He can’t make me, can he?’

‘He can only ask. You don’t have to reply,’ the brief said.

‘Fucking right, then.’

For the next forty-five minutes, Waddington ignored every question, staring around the room as if bored. Finally he said, ‘You’ve got Michelle’s statement, right? She told you I was there with her, didn’t she?’

Hodges leaned forward, caught Waddington’s eye and shook his head slowly and sucked his teeth as if to say: She stitched you up, mate. The duty solicitor, looking down at his phone, seemed to have missed the silent communication. Gillard knew it was a dangerous trick, trying to sidestep the tape. As well as lying about the contents of a witness statement.