O’Connor said it was and James made a note of the number. As he walked back to his own car, he checked to see if there was any damage to the front of the vehicle. There wasn’t.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

James made it to Kendal by eight forty-five. He’d already phoned ahead with Kenneth O’Connor’s details so background checks could be carried out and someone could contact his brother in Windermere to check his alibi.

A warrant to search his home would also be secured so it’d be ready and waiting if they needed to execute it.

A shirt-sleeved DCI Tanner had been overseeing things and James almost didn’t recognise him at first because he had shaved off his goatee beard.

‘It was a Christmas present to my wife,’ Tanner said. ‘She never liked it and it finally got to the point where I realised that it didn’t suit me.’

Tanner was a thick-set middle-aged man and James had a good working relationship with him, partly because the DCI preferred paperwork to legwork. More often than not he was happy to take a back seat while those detectives who reported to him got on with the grind of an investigation.

‘I’ve brought myself up to scratch with the case,’ Tanner said. ‘It makes sense for you to continue leading it since you live out that way and know more about the community than the rest of us.’

It had been the same with the serial killer investigation a year ago, when James was appointed SOI because the murders were taking place in Kirkby Abbey.

At nine sharp the team was assembled in the open plan office, armed with notepads and coffees. The room was packed and the atmosphere charged.

They were still waiting for the full forensic report from the scene and there had been a delay in unblocking the two mobile phones found at the farm but Tanner had been told they would be delivered within the hour.

They did have all the photographic evidence, though, and DS Stevens and DC Abbott had taken on the task of collating and then displaying it across two large whiteboards that had been set up.

On one were the photos of the crime scene. They showed the three bodies in situ, the bloody shoeprints and the layout of the room from various angles. There were also several external shots of the farm which looked as though it had been smothered in cotton wool with all the snow.

On the other whiteboard were photos of Robert, Mary and Charlotte Bateman, a photo of Neil Savage, and various images from the cellar, including the cubbyhole behind the wall and the memorial stone with the inscription: You will never be forgotten.

There were also the photos and the Christmas card taken from the rubbish bin in Savage’s flat. Forensic technicians had done a good job of putting the bits back together.