‘An anonymous tip-off.’

‘Information that Rose Sharp’s underwear could be found at your house, Mr Hammond. I then undertook a search after questioning your cleaning staff who reported finding the item I was looking for. What were they doing at your house?’

‘Like I said,’ Hammond replied. ‘They must have belonged to one of the party guests. I can only assume that somebody sneaked off to one of the bathrooms or bedrooms and got carried away. It all did get, ahem, slightly out of control towards the end. Some people were totally off their heads, skinny-dipping, shouting – actually I wondered if someone had spiked the drinks. The rational explanation is that some daft bint had a shag and was too out of it to put her knickers back on.’

‘Only if they don’t contain Rose’s DNA.’

‘And if they do – why, if I killed this poor girl, would I leave her underwear lying around at my house?’

It was a good question, Patrick thought, and one that Winkler had no answer to. Something else occurred to him as he watched Hammond pick up another nut.

‘Mr Hammond – are you right-handed or left?’

Hammond scowled. ‘Well, I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything – but I’m left-handed.’

Cassandra Oliver leaned forwards. ‘If this underwear did indeed belong to the victim, it seems clear what’s happened,’ she said. ‘My client has been framed. Somebody planted it at his house and called you anonymously. It doesn’t take a genius to work that out.’ She looked pointedly at Winkler.

Patrick paused, thinking about what to do next. He was tempted to suspend the interview, get the underwear sent for DNA testing, but Suzanne had instructed them to get Hammond to talk, and so far he had said nothing useful.

‘Let’s move on,’ he said. He decided to take a risk, to try to get things moving. ‘Mr Hammond, do you have a sexual interest in underage girls?’

Mervyn Hammond’s expression was one of pure outrage. ‘No, I do not!’ He thumped the desk. ‘How dare you?’

Winkler sneered. ‘What were you doing visiting St Mary’s Children’s Home last Monday night?’

For the first time, Hammond’s air of superiority wobbled. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘You were seen,’ Winkler went on, ‘entering St Mary’s Children’s Home in Isleworth at 18.49 that evening. What were you doing there?’

‘No comment,’ replied Mervyn.

This was interesting, Patrick thought.

‘Have you interviewed the staff of this children’s home?’ asked Oliver.

‘There’s a pair of officers on their way now,’ Winkler replied.

‘Why did you go there?’ Patrick asked before Winkler could say anything else.

‘No comment.’

‘I don’t understand what this has to do with your murder investigation,’ Oliver interjected.

‘We believe,’ Winkler said, ‘that it shows a pattern of behaviour, that Mr Hammond here enjoys the company of schoolgirls.’

‘This is preposterous,’ Hammond said, spluttering.

‘Then why won’t you tell us the purpose of your visit?’ Patrick asked.

‘Because it’s none of your fucking business, that’s why.’

Patrick sat back. Could Hammond actually be guilty? They knew he was sleazy. He had paid off Roisin McGreevy after Shawn Barrett hurt her. No doubt that wasn’t the only occasion he’d had to help shut someone up. Patrick also knew that Hammond had represented a rock star who had been shacked up with a fifteen-year-old girl in the eighties, helping this ageing rocker win public sympathy by portraying the girl as a gold-digging hussy who lied about her age.

So Hammond had shown little moral fibre when it came to the issue of underage sex. Also, he had no alibi. He definitely had the access to teenage girls. It would be easy for him to promise that he would introduce them to members of OnTarget, get them tickets to concerts and signed merchandise, or deliver messages to the boys. Now he was refusing to answer a simple question about this children’s home, was flustered, his usually cool demeanour heating up.

‘So you’re not willing to tell us why you visited St Mary’s?’ Patrick asked.

Hammond folded his arms. ‘No.’

‘OK. I’m suspending this interview. The time is 12.25.’

The two detectives walked to Suzanne’s office, not speaking to one another. As soon as they got inside the office, Winkler said, ‘He’s lying, and he’s guilty. We need to get authorisation for a full search of his house, his office, his cars—’

‘Hold on,’ Suzanne said. ‘Patrick? What do you think?’

‘I don’t know for sure.’ He ignored Winkler’s puff of exasperation. ‘But what I do know is that Adrian’s almost certainly got one thing wrong.’

‘What?’ Winkler squared up to him.

‘Your theory about him lying because of the direction his eyes are going is, frankly, bullshit.’

Winkler blustered with outrage. ‘It’s not! It’s widely known that if a suspect looks up to the right, he’s lying, because he’s creating a visual construct, not a remembered one . . .’

Patrick resisted the temptation to roll his own eyes. ‘Yes – perhaps. A right-handed person. Hammond’s left-handed, as he just confirmed. Which means that the process is likely reversed. When he’s remembering, he looks to the right, and if he’s making stuff up, he’d look left.’

Winkler looked mortified and Patrick allowed himself a small moment of triumphal one-upmanship.

Suzanne interjected. ‘Can we stick to actual facts, please? It’s certainly suspicious that he won’t answer any questions about the children’s home. Who’s gone to talk to them?’

‘Gareth Batey’s headed down there.’

‘And is Carmella still in with the housekeeper?’

‘No. She’s writing up the statement now. But Miss Wattana stated that she’s never witnessed any teenage girls at Hammond’s house except when there’s been a party. Carmella said that Miss Wattana actually laughed when she was asked if she knew anything about Hammond’s sexual preferences. She said, and I quote, “He only like trains.”’

‘Yeah. Lying or not, he’s still a weirdo,’ Winkler said. ‘We need to search his house.’

Patrick put up a hand, refusing to get drawn into an argument with Winkler. ‘I think we’re looking at this all wrong.’

‘What do you mean?’ Suzanne asked. She had taken a seat behind her desk and in that moment the sun broke through the clouds outside, brightening the room, catching Suzanne’s hair. She’s beautiful . . . Patrick immediately stamped on the thought.

‘This case, it’s not about sex. Don’t forget, none of the victims, Rose, Jessica, Nancy Marr or Wendy, assuming she was killed by the same person, were sexually assaulted. There was no sign of any sexual activity at all. Winkler here is following a trail based on his belief that Hammond is a paedophile. But that doesn’t fit with the murders.’

‘No,’ Winkler said. ‘My belief is that Hammond is a paedophile, that all of the victims found out, and he killed them to shut them up, to stop his secret getting out.’

‘And that theory could still work,’ Suzanne said, ‘if Hammond isn’t a sexual predator. There could be other reasons he needed to keep Rose, Jessica and Nancy Marr quiet. Some other criminal activity. Drugs, for example. Maybe he deals drugs, sells them to OnTarget’s fans, to the kids or staff at the children’s home.’

‘Maybe,’ both Patrick and Winkler said at the same time.

Suzanne frowned suddenly. ‘Well, whatever it is, we need to decide what to do with Hammond. Patrick?’

‘We don’t have enough to charge him.’

‘Bullshit,’ said Winkler.

‘No, we don’t. Not without a DNA test on the underwear. If we charge Mervyn and then they turn out to belong to someone else . . .’ He didn’t need to finish the sentence. ‘Let’s see what Gareth comes back with from St Mary’s and get the underwear through the lab ASAP. How quickly can they do it if we ask them to make it priority one?’