‘I’d always enjoyed Quincy as a kid, you know, that American TV show about the forensic examiner who lives on a houseboat, turns detective and solves murders by the dozen. The more I looked into it, the more it intrigued me. And it still does. The workings of the human body, dead or alive, absolutely fascinate me.’

Stacey could see Jessica’s pride and passion for her work written all over her face. She raised her glass in admiration. ‘I still don’t know how you cope with it all. The bodies and all that.’

‘Humour. I know it sounds crazy and I’m always respectful to the dead, but humour plays an important part. And, talking of that, if there’s ever anything I can do for you to help a case go more smoothly – swapping bodies around, planting evidence, faking lab tests – you just let me know.’

‘Thank, Jessica. And, likewise, if you ever need a couple of extra corpses, just let me know. I’ve got friends in high places.’

They both chuckled.

Jessica cocked her head to one side. ‘It’s funny, back in the old days, back in the seventies say, the pathologist and the senior police officers would all head down the pub right after the post-mortem and get totally pissed. It was a bit of a tradition. Doesn’t happen any more because everyone’s supposed to be more professional and we have to appear impartial.’

‘You think we shouldn’t be doing this, then, talking about Moorwood?’

‘Nah. We’ve been working together for years. Besides, how truly impartial can either of us be when we both want to see the guilty get punished and the innocent go free?’

‘I’ll drink to that.’

Each woman moved her glass towards the other’s, ready for the toast. At that moment the chisel-jawed waiter, who was making his way towards a table on the other side of the restaurant, tripped on a carelessly placed handbag and sent a tray piled high with empty glasses flying through the air. It landed with a devastating crash.

Stacey jumped at the sudden noise, the jolt spilling a little of her drink. She spun her head round to see what was happening and joined the other diners in giving the mortified waiter a cheer of commiseration. When she turned back to her dinner companion, her wine was still sloshing back and forth in the glass.

Jessica still had her hand out ready for the toast. Her wine was as calm as a mill pond. ‘Happens every time I’m here,’ she said. ‘That’s man’s all thumbs.’ She smiled gently.

‘To justice,’ said Stacey.

‘To justice,’ said Jessica.

14

Not only was Billy Moorwood refusing to speak, he was also refusing to make eye contact. He slumped forward across the table of the interview room, staring at the wall in front of him with a dumb, vacant expression. He couldn’t even be bothered to say no comment.

It was fast approaching midday. Woods and Collins were having their third interview with Moorwood that day but were getting less and less out of him each time. They were really starting to feel the pressure.

At the end of the first day of interrogation DCI Anderson had applied to the Magistrates Court for an extension allowing a further thirty-six hours after the first thirty-six hours had expired. He had successfully argued that further detention was necessary in order to secure evidence relating to the murder investigation.

When no such evidence emerged, Anderson made the decision to charge Moorwood with drugs and weapons offences in order to ensure he would be remanded in custody. But the charges were minor, and his solicitor had indicated his intention to apply for a bail hearing. Anderson knew there was every chance that Moorwood would be released and every chance that he would instantly vanish so far underground that they would never find him again.

It meant everyone on the team was working double-time to try to find the evidence to link him to the murders. Forensic officers were going through his shabby flat with a fine-tooth comb, collecting samples of everything from hair and fibres to fingerprints and body fluids.

Other officers were busy interviewing friends and family, checking out alibis and tracking down his movements at the time each of the dead men went missing and at the time that the bodies were being driven across South London.

And meanwhile Collins and Woods were desperately trying to get something out of him. It was frustrating work. There were so many gaps in their knowledge. It could easily have been the case that Moorwood was the man they were looking for. But at the same time they had managed to uncover almost no hard evidence that brought them any closer to proving he was guilty.

‘Listen, Billy,’ said Collins, desperately trying to make one last-ditch attempt to get him to open up. ‘I shouldn’t be saying this, but I have a lot of sympathy for you. A lot of people here do. The world isn’t black and white. Right and wrong aren’t always at opposite ends of the scale. Sometimes things get blurry in the middle. We want to help you, but we can’t do anything unless you speak to us.’

There was a long silence. Collins waited as long as she could bear before beginning her closing statement. ‘Interview terminated at –’

‘What’s the point?’ snorted Moorwood. ‘Whatever I say you’re going to twist it around and make me out to be the bad guy. That’s what you people do. I’ve seen it before. You’ve made up your mind about me, you don’t care about the truth, you just want to lock me up.’

‘That’s not true, Billy. I want to know the truth. I want to know what happened. This is your chance to tell us, your chance to put your side of the story across.’

Moorwood slowly moved back in his chair until he was fully upright, though his gaze remained on the wall behind the officers. ‘You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand.’ He suddenly turned his gaze on Collins. ‘I just wanted to scare them.’

‘You did a little more than that. Didn’t you?’

‘No. I’m not saying any more.’

‘Then we must presume you’re guilty.’

‘Good. I want to go to court.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I want to tell people what happened to me. I want everyone to know what those bastards did. There’s gonna be reporters and all sorts there. The story will be everywhere. That’s why I was going to top myself. I knew it would make the papers. I knew they would be called to account. There’s enough evidence there to put them away. That’s all I wanted. To see them brought to justice. Nothing more. Killing’s too good for those bastards. It would be over too quickly. I want them to suffer. I want to ruin their lives the way they’ve ruined mine. I wanted to be the last thing they thought about every night before they went to bed. I’m not saying any more, not until the press are right in front of me.’

Collins sighed. ‘But, Billy, the press won’t come unless they know what the story is going to be about. You have to give me a taster. Something I can interest them with.’

‘What sort of thing?’

‘Tell me when you started following them.’

Moorwood dragged the back of his hand across his nose and sniffed. ‘It was after the case. Half of those bastards managed to get away with it. They lied and used the fact that people were still scared of them. It was like they had planned it out from the start. They were teachers, they were respected members of the community. We trusted them. They can’t treat kids that way. They thought they were above the law. They’re not. I had to make them pay.’

‘So you killed them.’

Moorwood’s eyes widened. ‘Killing’s too good for them. I told you that. I just followed them. I just wanted to scare them. That’s all. I don’t know anything about anyone ending up dead. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not sorry to hear it. Not sorry at all.’

*

Jason Bevan’s fingers trembled with excitement as he turned on his computer.