Porter quickly scanned the copy of Bembenek’s statement, and then looked at the picture held in the top corner by a paperclip. The black-and-white shot of the man was from a distance, but didn’t disguise the fact that he was a giant. Porter noticed the sloping shoulder muscles that rose to his neck in a triangular fashion, and arms that bulged against the fabric of his suit; a gymaholic if ever he’d seen one. The scar started along the lower part of his jaw and ended up like a second chin dimple, just off centre by the real thing.

‘Who’ve we got here, then? This the guy from the statement?’

‘Say hello to James Bolton,’ said Styles. ‘I’d say he’s a more than reasonable match against Bembenek’s description, wouldn’t you?’

‘So Locke sent his man to sabotage the deal so he could get Barclay’s business on the cheap, I get that,’ said Porter. ‘You’ve convinced me he’s not a nice guy. What I’m still not convinced of is that it has even a remote connection to what happened to Natasha Barclay.’

‘Locke is far from being a nice guy; same goes for Bolton, and bad things have happened to anyone who doesn’t give them what they want, but the connection is there. We’re just not sure how all the pieces fit together yet,’ said Simmons.

Styles picked up a grey folder from the desk and handed it to Porter. It was a copy of the crime scene report that Will Leonard had promised but Porter had yet to read. He started scanning from the top of the front page, but Styles reached across and lifted the sheet up and over to reveal the one beneath it. He pointed at a section in the middle and Porter quickly took in the paragraph. He was only halfway through when he saw it and stopped, his eyes fixed on one word, a name. When he looked up, Styles and Simmons were both watching him, waiting expectantly for a reaction.

‘Him?’ said Porter. ‘He was there? In her apartment?’

Styles nodded. ‘Yep, fingerprints are only partials but it’s a definite match. That a solid enough connection for you?’

‘Where were they?’

‘They were in the kitchen. It’s not often prints would last that long, but we got lucky. The bench next to the oven had some trace fatty deposits, most likely from somebody’s cooking, and we picked them up from that.’

Porter stood up and dropped the file back onto the table. He felt his pulse quicken as he spoke. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a suspect. Let’s go round James Bolton up and ask what the hell he was doing at a crime scene.’

He started to walk around Styles and Simmons but she put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

‘You can’t do that, sir, at least not yet.’