‘Well, they wanted to know his mother’s full name, the address where he lived and phone number, plus his place of work and the phone number of that. The names of his children, then his post code! Oh, it was terrible, he said. He was so nervous he nearly forgot his mother’s maiden name!’ She picked up her drink and took a swig. It wasn’t often she had George’s undivided attention and she was quite enjoying regaling him with the story.

George, on the other hand, was fretting. She wasn’t telling him quickly enough and knowing Elaine, she would draw out the story for maximum effect. He gritted his teeth and smiled at her.

‘Is that all? I would have thought it would have been a bit more than that.’

‘Oh, it was. They took his fingerprints and asked him if he had been questioned by them regarding the murders. They asked to see his passport but he only had his driving licence, and then they wanted to know what kind of car he drove and what was the registration? Then after all that he finally had the blood test. He said the woman who took the blood was really rough and his arm was swollen where the needle went in.’

Elaine chattered on but she’d lost George now. He was quietly processing exactly what she had said and trying to turn it to his own advantage. He stood up abruptly.

‘I’d better let you get on, dear, you’re off out soon and if you don’t get a move on, you’ll be late.’

Elaine glanced at the clock by the bed and gave a little squeal, causing George to close his eyes. Acting like a teenager did not sit well on Elaine, but she couldn’t see that herself. Jumping up, she rushed to the wardrobe and took down a bright blue dress that was hanging on the outside. So busy was she taking off the plastic film, she did not even notice George slip from the room.

Twenty-five minutes later, when she’d left, George went down to his shed and brought out all his clippings. He had a whole scrapbook now and lovingly read every word, over and over again. In one local paper was a picture of Kate Burrows, the Detective Inspector who was working on his case. Beside her was her Chief Inspector, a Kenneth Caitlin. He studied the blurred black and white photos and grinned.

They couldn’t catch a cold, George thought.

He smiled at the witticism and went back to the pictures of his victims. As always when he saw Geraldine O’Leary, he felt a twinge of sadness. Her poor children, to have a mother like that! He sipped the last of his brandy and shook his head. They really were much better off without her.