More crucially, and frustratingly, he couldn’t find any stories that Rose and Jess wrote together; nor were there any stories that either of them had written with other people. He had combed through the comments on Rose’s and Jess’s stories, but most of the ‘reviews’ were one or two words long. Convinced there must be something on the site that would help him, refusing to accept that this was another dead end, he spent the next few hours reading through fan fiction, finding himself drawn into a world where OnTarget were like the gods in Greek and Roman myths, mixing with mortal girls who were almost always flame-haired, milky-skinned virgins who found themselves swept into a world of excitement, danger and blood-sucking. It was amazing how often Shawn was depicted as a vampire overlord in these tales. What was it with young women and the undead?

This morning Gill had woken him up at 10 a.m. He’d fallen asleep at his desk at home and as soon as she shook him awake and he saw the time, he ran into the shower, shouting at her for not waking him earlier, then regretting it. As he soaped himself he castigated himself for being such a bastard to her recently. She was trying, really trying, and his response was to be grumpy, withdrawn and passive-aggressive.

‘You need to make a decision,’ she said when he emerged from the shower. She stood in the bathroom doorway, arms folded, trembling with the courage it took to say these words. ‘Because we can’t go on like this, Patrick. If you want me to leave, if you can’t ever forgive me, you need to say.’

Then she had walked away, tears in her eyes, leaving him feeling wretched – but as confused as ever.

He followed her into the kitchen, where he found her standing by the sink, gazing out of the window. He went up and hugged her, feeling her respond, tentatively at first, before putting her arms fully around him and squeezing him, pulling him against her with a rare display of strength. He was still hot and a little damp from the shower and, emotionally charged from the scene in the bathroom, he found himself becoming aroused. Gill noticed it and pushed herself against him, tilting her face and kissing him.

‘Where’s Bonnie?’ he whispered into her mouth.

‘Watching Ben and Holly in the living room.’

‘How long does an episode last?’

‘About ten minutes.’

‘Plenty of time.’

He took her by the wrist and pulled her gently out of the kitchen and into the utility room, shutting the door behind him. Gill’s eyes widened as he lifted her onto the washing machine, no more words exchanged as she unbuckled his belt and he reached beneath her skirt and pulled down her knickers, tossing them onto the floor, kissing her hard as she shuffled forwards a few inches so he could push into her. He felt himself heading straight towards orgasm. He tried to slow down, but she urged him on, biting his lip and pulling at his hair as he thrust into her, his wife, the taste and feel and smell of her so familiar but so strange, almost forgotten, and as he came he gasped her name, his face pressed against her neck.

‘Mummy, where are you?’

He stared into Gill’s eyes and they both laughed before Gill called out, ‘I’ll be one minute, sweetheart. I’m just helping Daddy with something.’

They rearranged their clothes, smiling but not speaking, until Patrick said, ‘I’m sorry. About before.’

‘It’s OK. But we do need to talk.’

‘I know. I promise. It’s just . . . this case, I have so little time.’

She placed a hand on his chest. ‘I understand. And I’m sorry too.’

She left the room and came back carrying Bonnie.

‘Let’s arrange a date night,’ he said. ‘As soon as this investigation is over or slows down. I’ll get my mum to babysit. OK?’

He’d left them both with a kiss, and now here he was, two hours late, heading towards Suzanne’s office, wondering if perhaps that date night might arrive sooner than he’d thought. If the investigation had ended without him.

He knocked on Suzanne’s door and was called in, surprised to find her with the chief superintendent, Gordon Stretton, who wore the same kind of smile Gareth and Martin had displayed. Stretton was a large man in his fifties, with thick hair and – according to gossip – thin skin. He stood beside Suzanne’s desk. She was smiling too, but a little more warily.

‘Guv,’ Patrick said, nodding at Stretton.

For the second time that morning, Patrick found himself on the receiving end of a look he couldn’t quite read. In retrospect, he would remember it as the look a football manager gives their former star striker just before telling them they’re going to spend the foreseeable future on the subs bench.

‘Patrick,’ Stretton said. ‘I was just congratulating DCI Laughland. Seems she has one or two excellent DIs under her command. Or one, anyway.’

Patrick bristled. What did that mean? He looked at Suzanne, but she was shuffling some papers and avoiding his eye.

‘See you for a celebratory drink later, Suzanne?’ Stretton said, pushing past Patrick and heading out.

As soon as Stretton shut the door behind him, Patrick said, ‘What the hell’s going on?’

‘It’s Winkler. He’s arrested someone for the murders of Rose and Jess. Wendy’s killer too, I expect, but Adrian is talking to him first, then Strong is going to interview him about Wendy’s death.’

‘Hang on. Interview who?’

‘Mervyn Hammond.’

Patrick blinked. ‘What? Hammond? That’s . . .’

‘An item of Rose’s clothing was found at Hammond’s house.’

‘By Winkler?’

‘Yes, following an anonymous call. Winkler was already there, questioning Mr Hammond.’

Patrick listened with increasing disbelief as Suzanne relayed the story Winkler had told her that morning, after turning up at the station with Mervyn Hammond handcuffed in the back of his car.

Winkler and Gareth Batey had found a photograph of Hammond among Nancy Marr’s possessions. Winkler had unearthed rumours about Hammond and young girls, followed him and seen him visit a children’s home after hours. Finally, he’d discovered Rose’s ‘LUCKY’ knickers in a bin bag on Hammond’s property.

‘Hammond’s got no alibi for any of the murders. Not that he’s telling us about anyway. When Winkler brought him in, Hammond started shouting about how he was going to make sure Winkler and I were on the front of every paper between here and Timbuktu for threatening and intimidating an innocent man. Since his lawyer arrived he’s gone quiet, started saying “no comment” to every question.’

Patrick’s mind raced. Hammond? Could it be him? He thought back to his own interview with the PR man. He found Mervyn deeply repellent, arrogant and slimy – but a serial murderer?

‘Stretton was acting like we’ve definitely got our man,’ Patrick said.

‘Yes. Well, this underwear.’

‘Which seems very convenient. An anonymous tip-off?’

‘Exactly. I can already hear Hammond’s lawyer in court. If it even gets that far. We need more, Patrick. I want you to join the interview. See if you can get Hammond to start talking. And be careful, OK? I really have no desire to see my name on the front page of The Sun.’

Chapter 45

Day 14 – Patrick

Suzanne knocked on the door of interview room one and beckoned for Winkler to come out. He pushed himself slowly up from his seat and loped out of the room. Before the door shut, Patrick caught a glimpse of Hammond sitting beside his lawyer – a red-headed woman whom Patrick didn’t recognise. Hammond had his trademark bag of nuts open in front of him and was staring into space, seemingly deep in thought. If you could hear a mind whirring, Hammond’s would be as loud as a helicopter.