The unmarked grey Vauxhall swept into Linden Avenue, Gillard having turned off the blue lights a couple of minutes before. Gillard slewed the car to a stop across the front drive of Tilling’s home. While Carl Hoskins went around the back, the detective chief inspector banged on the door. Before he got a reply the first of two patrol cars arrived in the street.

Through the reeded glass, Gillard watched the shuffling shambolic figure of Gary Tilling fumbling with the locked door. The moment he opened it, Gillard put his foot inside and grabbed his wrist. ‘You’re under arrest in connection with the abduction of Ms Leticia Mountjoy. We’ve got a warrant to search your home too.’ Tilling didn’t resist and nodded as if he’d expected it.

While two uniformed officers handcuffed Tilling, Gillard directed others to the den to seize the many laptops there. Hoskins read Tilling his rights, while Gillard began to climb the stairs. He was soon struggling against the stench.

‘Please don’t disturb Mum,’ Tilling called out to him. ‘She’s taken a turn for the worse recently, and the doctors say she is not to be disturbed.’

Gillard located the room, knocked lightly on the door and called out: ‘Mrs Tilling, it’s the police. I’m afraid we need to come into your room.’

There was no reply, but the detective was aware that this was where the penetrating smell emanated from. Twisting the handle, he pushed, and shed light on a stinking darkness.

The curtains were drawn, but a faint light seeped into the room. In the centre was a large double bed, which groaned under the movement of its large occupant, whose suppressed hoarse breathing filled the room. The detective groped for the light switch, but a powerful gravelly voice said: ‘Leave it.’

Gillard flicked the switch anyway and flooded the room with light. ‘Turn it off!’ It was an almost feral growl. Emerging from under the duvet was a head, greasy hair loose around the face, a small feminine hand shielding her from the light. The entire bed creaked and squealed as the woman adjusted her position. Leticia Mountjoy had not exaggerated. The woman was gargantuan.

‘Are you Mrs Penelope Tilling?’

Machinery whirred and the far end of the bed began to tilt, lifting the upper body of the woman into a sitting position. A finger pointed directly at Gillard, and its owner rasped: ‘What right have you to come in here?’ She reached for something on the bedside table. An oxygen mask. Placed it on her face. A uniformed police officer joined him in the room, took one glance at the woman within, and almost gagged.

Gillard said: ‘Mrs Tilling, you are under arrest for the abduction of Leticia Mountjoy. You are not obliged…’