‘Was there any evidence of a struggle?’ Adrian couldn’t stop himself from asking.

‘No, but she was clothed and the force with which her wrists were cut points to someone else being involved. She could have perhaps cut one, but I don’t see how she then would have had the strength to do the other one with the same effort and precision.’

‘What was she cut with?’

‘A vegetable knife, one of those small serrated ones. It was on the floor in the bathroom. Can we talk about something else?’ Imogen shuddered.

Adrian knew how to distract her. ‘He called me.’

‘Who did?’

‘He did – Parker. Told me he didn’t kill Caitlin.’ Adrian could see Imogen visibly tense as he spoke.

‘Jesus Christ, and you waited ’til now to tell me?’

‘There’s nothing to tell. He said he doesn’t know who the others are, but he was sorry about the girl,’ Adrian whispered, aware that there were other people close by.

‘Did you believe him?’

‘He doesn’t seem to lie, so I don’t see what he would have to gain from starting now. Yeah, I believed him. He said he is trying to find the puppetmaster.’

‘So maybe we can find out the final players before he does.’

‘What are the chances of that?’ Adrian said, unsure whether he wanted to find the person first. Maybe Parker was right and prison wouldn’t stop them from manipulating people for their own entertainment. There were plenty of vulnerable people in prison. The only saving grace was that now all their playmates were dead. He probably shouldn’t feel that way, but Adrian was fresh out of sympathy this week.

‘Let’s go and see Russ Beacham’s parents. We have more information now at least. Maybe we can find out what hold the professors have over him,’ Imogen said.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Russ Beacham’s mother, Judith, answered the door to her apartment set among a small, low-level red-brick council block. Her eyes wandered up and down the detectives, then she walked back inside the house and left the door open for them to follow, obviously clocking that they were police immediately. Imogen always wondered what it was that gave them away; neither she nor Adrian particularly dressed like the rest of CID. She was always in her baggy trousers and Adrian generally looked like he had just got off a bender of some kind.

Judith Beacham sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette straight away, facing the window and crossing her arms. Here was a woman at the end of her tether.

‘What’s he done now?’ she said, nervously sucking on the cigarette as soon as she had finished speaking.

‘Do you know where your son is, Mrs Beacham?’

‘Ms,’ she corrected Imogen.

‘Have you seen him?’ Imogen asked.

‘I haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks now,’ Judith Beacham said.

‘Is that unusual?’ Adrian asked.

‘Probably means he is sponging off someone else for a change.’

‘Did your son get a scholarship to Exeter University?’ Imogen said.