“Lied about what?”

“What he was doing. When I talked to him a couple of days ago, he admitted he’d been out in the van that night. He runs a spare-parts service. Specialist bits and pieces for old bangers, antiques and so on, and he makes the deliveries himself to save on overheads. Admits it’s nothing that’ll ever make him rich, but he enjoys his work. He said he had a delivery to make to a regular customer in Southampton, and he was used to night driving, actually liked it, so whenever he went down there he drove by night. Less traffic.”

“And?”

“Only I remembered to check with the customer in Southampton, and it was actually two days earlier that Mr. Nuttall made the delivery. He’d got the dates wrong.”

“So, on the night in question, a week last Tuesday, his van was captured on CCTV traveling the route we’re interested in, but he had no reason to be there?”

“That’s about the long and the short of it, guv.”

“Then either he’s lying or he got muddled up and made a mistake. Well done, Doug. Good catch.”

Wilson adjusted his glasses. “Thanks, guv.”

“We’ll pay him a visit later this morning.”

There was nothing else new, so Annie started issuing actions and TIEs, and when the room emptied, leaving her alone with the gilt-framed photos of the wool barons who made Eastvale, she allowed herself to slump in her chair, close her eyes for a moment and cover them with her hands. But her mind was still humming with the adrenaline of the night. There was no way it was going to allow her a nap. Instead, she headed for the canteen to get a large mug of coffee before heading for the squad room to prepare the interview and wait for Banks.

Excerpt from Linda Palmer’s Memoir