“Well, of course not, if I was asleep. I’m a sound sleeper. The sign of an untroubled conscience.”

“I hear that most serial killers have no problems falling asleep. Or maybe it’s only the booze.”

Warner just smirked.

“So he could have stayed awake until you passed out, then gone out?” Annie pressed on.

“He could have, I suppose. But why would he?”

“Did you know that he had the use of a van that night?”

“He did some delivery driving on the side. His boss lived in Stockton. It was a casual arrangement. He parked round the back when he kept the van overnight.”

“You say that Albert could have gone out if you were the one who bit the dust first, so to speak?”

“I said it’s possible. Yes. But he was pissed. He wouldn’t have been able to drive.”

“What if he wasn’t as pissed as you thought he was?”

“You mean he might have been putting it on?”

“Possibly.”

Paul shrugged. “Then I don’t know. I didn’t think so. I mean, we both had a fair bit to drink, and I certainly wouldn’t have thought of driving.”

“We’d like to examine your van, Paul. Is that OK?”

“But why? It can’t have been on your CCTV, or whatever you’ve got.”

“How do you know that?” Annie asked.

“Well, I . . . I mean . . .”

“How do you know that Albert didn’t drive it after you passed out? He wouldn’t use Jim Nuttall’s van, would he, surely? I mean he’d know we’d connect him to that eventually. But why not use your Citroën?”

“Albert’s not that bright. Besides, if you could connect him to this Nuttall character, you could certainly connect him to me.”

“Maybe so. But one way or another that van you’ve both told us was parked in the lane at the back of your flat did show up on CCTV near Bradham Lane that night. A bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Maybe Nuttall did it?”

“Not very plausible, Paul. He’d have to take a taxi all the way from Stockton, which he didn’t. We checked.”

“Maybe he got a mate to drop him off. I don’t know. There must be some mistake.”

“I agree. Let’s move on. Last time we talked, you told us you had only a passing acquaintance with Mimosa. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like her?”

“Well enough, I suppose. I mean, I didn’t know her well enough to really say that. She was so much younger than me.”

“Not that much. You’re what, twenty-three? Mimsy was fifteen? Very attractive, too, from what I hear. Sexy.”

“She was still too young for me. I prefer women my own age.”

“Got a girlfriend at the moment, Paul?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”