“I told you. He came at me with this crazy look in his eye.”

“And he lashed out at you with his machete?”

“Yes. I deflected the blow with my baton, the side against my arm, like they taught us. And then when he’d swung, before he could bring it back into position again, I swung out and hit him.”

“Where did the first blow land?”

“On his head.”

“Where exactly on his head?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t concerned about that.”

“But you wanted to put him out of commission, didn’t you?”

“I wanted to stop him from killing me.”

“So you’d want to hit him somewhere effective?”

“Well, I’m right-handed, so I suppose I must have hit him on the left side of his head, somewhere around the temple.”

“Did he go down?”

“No, but he was dazed. He couldn’t get his machete in position to strike again.”

“Where did you hit him next?”

“The wrist, I think.”

“To disarm him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you succeed?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do next?”

“I kicked the machete into the corner.”

“What did Payne do?”

“He was holding his wrist and cursing me.”

“You’d hit him once on the left temple and once on the wrist by this time?”

“That’s right.”

“What did you do next?”

“I hit him again.”

“Where?”

“On the head.”

“Why?”

“To incapacitate him.”

“Was he standing at this point?”

“Yes. He’d been on his knees trying to get the machete, but he got up and came at me.”

“He was unarmed now?”

“Yes, but he was still bigger and stronger than me. And he had this insane look in his eyes, as if he had strength to spare.”

“So you hit him again?”

“Yes.”

“Same spot?”

“I don’t know. I used my baton in the same way. So yes, I suppose so, unless he was half turned away.”

“Was he?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But it’s possible? I mean, it was you who suggested it.”

“I suppose it’s possible, but I don’t see why.”

“You didn’t hit him on the back of his head at any point?”

“I don’t think so.”

Janet had started to sweat now. Annie could see beads of it around her hairline and a dark stain spreading slowly under her arms. She didn’t want to put the poor woman through much more, but she had her job to do, and she could be hard when she needed to be. “What happened after you hit Payne on the head a second time?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“Nothing. He kept coming.”

“So you hit him again.”

“Yes. I took the baton in both hands, like a cricket bat, so I could hit him harder.”

“He had nothing to defend himself with at this time, right?”

“Only his arms.”

“But he didn’t raise them to ward off the blow?”

“He was holding his wrist. I think it was broken. I heard something crack.”

“So you had free rein to hit him as hard as you liked?”

“He kept coming at me.”

“You mean he kept moving toward you?”

“Yes, and calling me names.”

“What sort of names?”

“Filthy names. And Dennis was groaning, bleeding. I wanted to go to him, to see if I could help, but I couldn’t do anything until Payne stopped moving.”

“You didn’t feel you could restrain him with handcuffs at this point?”

“No way. I’d already hit him two or three times, but it seemed to have no effect. He kept coming. If I’d gone in close and he’d got hold of me he’d have strangled the life out of me.”

“Even with his broken wrist?”

“Yes. He could have got his arm across my throat.”

“Okay.” Annie paused to make some notes on the pad in front of her. She could almost smell Janet Taylor’s fear, and she wasn’t sure if it was residual, from the cellar, or because of present circumstances. She drew out the note-making process until Janet started shifting and fidgeting, then she asked, “How many times do you think you hit him in all?”

Janet turned her head to one side. “I don’t know. I wasn’t counting. I was fighting for my life, defending myself against a maniac.”

“Five times? Six times?”

“I told you. I don’t remember. As many times as I needed. To make him stop coming. He just wouldn’t stop coming at me.” Janet broke into sobs and Annie let her cry. It was the first time emotion had broken through the shock and it would do her good. After a minute or so, Janet collected herself and sipped some more water. She seemed embarrassed to have broken down in front of a colleague.

“I’ve almost finished now, Janet,” said Annie. “Then I’ll leave you be.”

“Okay.”

“You managed to get him to stay down, didn’t you?”

“Yes. He fell against the wall and slid down.”

“Was he still moving then?”

“Not very much. He was sort of twitching and breathing heavily. There was blood on his mouth.”

“Final question, Janet: Did you hit him again after he went down?”

Her eyebrows shot together in fear. “No. I don’t think so.”

“What did you do?”

“I handcuffed him to the pipe.”

“And then?”

“Then I went to help Dennis.”

“Are you sure you didn’t hit him again after he went down? Just to make sure?”

Janet looked away. “I told you. I don’t think so. Why would I?”

Annie leaned forward and rested her arms on the desk. “Try to remember, Janet.”

But Janet shook her head. “It’s no good. I don’t remember.”

“Okay,” said Annie, getting to her feet. “Interview over.” She pushed a statement sheet and a pen in front of Janet. “Write out what you’ve told me in as much detail as you can remember.”

Janet grasped the pen. “What happens next?”

“When you’ve finished, love, go home and have a stiff drink. Hell, have two.”

Janet managed a weak but genuine smile as Annie left and shut the door behind her.

DCs Bowmore and Singh looked shifty when they walked into Banks’s temporary Millgarth office, as well they might, he thought.

“Sit down,” he said.

They sat. “What is it, sir?” asked DC Singh, attempting lightness. “Got a job for us?”

Banks leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. “In a manner of speaking,” he said. “If you call sharpening pencils and emptying the wastepaper baskets a job.”

Their jaws dropped. “Sir-” Bowmore began, but Banks held his hand up.

“A car number plate ending in KWT. Ring any bells?”

“Sir?”

“KWT. Kathryn Wendy Thurlow.”

“Yes, sir,” said Singh. “It’s the number Bradford CID got in the Samantha Foster investigation.”

“Bingo,” said Banks. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Bradford send us copies of all their files on the Samantha Foster case when this team was set up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Including the name of everyone in the area who owned a dark car with the number plate ending in KWT.”

“Over a thousand, sir.”

“Over a thousand. Indeed. Bradford CID interviewed them all. And guess who’s among that thousand.”

“Terence Payne, sir,” answered Singh again.

“Bright lad,” said Banks. “Now, when Bradford CID were working on that case, did they have any links to any similar crimes?”

“No, sir,” answered Bowmore this time. “There was the girl went missing from the New Year’s party in Roundhay Park, but there was no reason to link them together at the time.”

“Right,” said Banks. “So why do you think I issued an action shortly after this task force was set up to go over all the evidence on the previous cases, including the disappearance of Samantha Foster?”

“Because you thought there was a link, sir,” said DC Singh.

“Not just me,” said Banks. “But, yes, three girls, as it was then. Then four. Then five. The possibility of a link was becoming stronger and stronger. Now guess who was assigned to go over the evidence in the Samantha Foster case.”

Singh and Bowmore looked at each other, then frowned and looked at Banks. “We were, sir,” they said as one.