It was a long thirty minutes. Other pieces of information were trickling in, but nothing truly useful. They now knew that the dumped Fiesta hadn’t even belonged to Spiller. It was an old courtesy car from a garage on the outskirts of Saltern. It was only used when the better vehicles were all booked out, and the staff there hadn’t even noticed it was missing. Jackman looked at his watch.

At last, Marie was calling to him. ‘He’s here, boss. Interview room two.’

When they entered the room, they found another slim, tall man. Andy Forman bore a considerable resemblance to the picture they had of Jordan Spiller. He was around forty, Jackman guessed, with short, dark hair and a tanned, weathered face, no doubt the result of working outdoors. Andy Forman told them he was originally from Hampshire but had been living in Saltern for the past ten years. He was a specialist in ecclesiastical architectural repairs. ‘I love old churches,’ he said with a friendly smile, ‘and my firm are the best. They’re passionate about restoring and conserving them.’

‘And Jordan Spiller worked for the same company?’ asked Jackman.

‘Yes, sir, that’s how this lady here got hold of me. Jordan and I worked some tough assignments together. He’s a top roofer. Brilliant balance, no fear of heights whatsoever. He’s got strength and stamina, and you need both working roofs.’

‘We’re most interested in his private life, Andy. We’ve been given a whole lot of contradictory stories about Jordan. Most have labelled him as an abusive husband.’

Andy’s face darkened. ‘Yeah, all spread around by Claire, that slut of a wife of his.’ He almost spat out the name. ‘She was the abusive one, Detective Inspector, as God is my witness. Jordan’s a good man. He didn’t deserve any of what happened to him.’

It was hard not to contradict him. After all, Jordan had murdered an old woman in cold blood, stabbed another and buried her in a shallow grave, and strangled a man who simply got in his way. He’d terrorised other women and threatened children, and now he’d abducted a boy. These were not the actions of a good man. ‘Well, something happened to cause this “good man” to do some horrific things, Mr Forman. We believe him to be responsible for three deaths — three murders to be precise — and apart from terrifying several women by getting into their homes at night, he has abducted a twelve-year-old boy.’

Andy Forman gaped at him. ‘What! I cannot believe that. Not Jordan. Oh my God! It must have turned his mind — everything that happened with that bitch. It’s the only explanation. He’s a good man,’ he muttered, and gave a long, shaky sigh. ‘All her fault. This is all her fault.’