He had raised his voice for the first time, and Jessie Malton tapped him on the arm and whispered in his ear.

“Sorry,” he said. “This is putting a lot of stress on me.”

“Why is it stressful, Paul, if you’ve got nothing to hide?” Gerry asked. “You were helpful enough before. Remember? You told us that Albert Moffat was with you the whole time after you got back home from the pub on Tuesday until eleven the following morning.”

“Well, I thought he was. I mean, I suppose he could have slipped out if I dozed off or something.”

“If?” said Gerry. “Did you doze off?”

“I might have done. I don’t remember. Like I said, we were drinking.”

“Are you trying to tell us that Albert nipped out and murdered his sister?”

“No. I’m not saying that. Just that I could have been mistaken. He might have gone out, if I was asleep.”

“Were you asleep?”

“I don’t remember.”

“How about if you went out when he dozed off?” Annie said. “Is that a viable scenario?”

“That’s not how it happened.”

Annie paused. “There is one other thing.”

“Oh. Yes?”

“Yes, Paul. You see, we found one of your fingerprints under the outside door handle, on the driver’s side.”

“Sure. I spelled Albert for a while. He was a bit hungover. We changed places. I drove.”

“Very considerate of you. But the fingerprint, your fingerprint, was a bloody fingerprint. And the blood was Mimosa Moffat’s. What do you have to say about that?”

“No comment.”

“I thought so.”

Jessie Malton looked as impassive as ever.

Annie went on. “Well, I’m sure you know what that means. I’m just trying to clear up the events of that Tuesday night. We have your bloody fingerprint under the door handle of the van, not Albert’s. Now, Albert has used the van since then, we know, but he didn’t mention you being with him. Luckily for us, your bloody fingerprint was in an out-of-the-way spot. Easy to miss when you gave it a quick wipe-down. It seems as if you might have been a bit shaken or agitated when you first tried to open the door after beating Mimsy Moffat to death.”

“Detective,” said Jessie Malton. “Can we have no more of that?”

“Sorry. Slip of the tongue. But I’m sure both you and Ms. Malton will realize that this needs a bit of explanation.”

“I must have cut myself before I spelled Albert on Wednesday, that’s all.”

Annie sighed. “Paul. Paul. I’ve already told you it was Mimosa Moffat’s blood. Believe me, we’ve checked. It’s hers. No doubt about it. How did you come to have Mimosa’s blood on your hands on Wednesday in Sunderland, if indeed you were there at all?”

“You must have made a mistake. Lots of people probably used that van since . . .”

“Since when, Paul? Since you used it?”