‘Did he say anything useful about Rodney’s mother?’ Laura asked as they drove out of the car park and headed back to the station.

  ‘He couldn’t remember her name,’ Anik told her, ‘as he only met her a few times, but he said she was very pretty, but very young and naïve. She’d been a student, but her family, who weren’t living in the UK, ran out of money to fund her education, so she got a job in a café and that’s where she met Rodney’s father. He got her pregnant and moved her into his old house. But she wasn’t used to cooking or housework and by the time she had Rodney, she was basically unable to cope.’

  ‘Yeah, Joyce brought that up,’ Laura said.

  ‘Apparently the Middleton family hated her, said she was a freeloader. According to Harold, Joyce took on a lot of responsibility with the baby. He also said that back then Joyce was attractive and had a good job as a secretary. She and her brother were very close at this point.’

  ‘Yeah, I gathered that from Joyce, too.’

  ‘Harold basically said Rodney was dumped on them. He also said that Joyce later miscarried, almost at full term; they knew it was dead but she still had to go through a proper birth. Harold said Joyce was convinced the stress of having to look after Rodney was the cause.’

  Laura looked thoughtful. ‘She never mentioned that. She told me she had to have a gastro band fitted and it went wrong, but must have been a considerable time later.’

  ‘Yes, apparently after the stillbirth she put on a lot of weight. He said after she had a band fitted, it was impossible for them to have Rodney anymore because it became infected, and she was bedridden.’

  ‘Seems you got along with Harold,’ Laura said. ‘He certainly told you most of what I got out of her.’

  ‘It took a lot of patience,’ Anik said. ‘But eventually I was able to steer him to when Abena went missing. He couldn’t remember the exact date, but he didn’t think she’d gone back to Ghana because he remembered a big row on the phone. He said Joyce was shouting at her brother because Abena never really left but had turned up again, wanting to take Rodney back to her family, as they had sent her money.’

  ‘Wow, this is good . . . go on.’

  ‘Harold got a bit anxious at this point. He reckoned Joyce’s brother would gladly have let Rodney go, because by this time he was in a relationship with Karen, and planned to marry her.’

  Anik stopped at a traffic light.

  Laura nudged him. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense, what else did he tell you?’

  ‘It was a bit sketchy, but he remembered Joyce going round to her brother’s. Afterwards she came back and told Harold that Rodney’s mother had gone back to Ghana. He thought it was strange because instead of going with her, Rodney remained with his father, even though he’d seemed eager to get rid of him.’

  The lights changed and they drove on. Anik explained that Harold had become very anxious again and kept repeating that he didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. ‘He said that when Anthony married Karen they had moved into a new house. Karen didn’t like Rodney, but Joyce wouldn’t have him stay again, so he only saw him infrequently. After the still birth Joyce started to gain weight and was eventually bedridden. She was in a very depressed state and couldn’t attend the christenings of the two little girls, but they were always made welcome at their flat. Joyce adored them but Anthony always stayed in his car when he dropped them off and collected them. He then started paying Harold to look after her.’

  ‘Why did he do that?’

  Anik shrugged. ‘It felt to him that there was some secret between Joyce and Anthony and Rodney, something that tied all three of them together.’

  ‘Did he talk about how things were before the fire?’

  ‘No, I tried but he wouldn’t talk about that. All he said was that after the fire Joyce’s brother was out of control and by that time Karen was back on drugs. He remembered that they were called by the hospital as near-relatives for Rodney as he had severe burns. Joyce refused to let him come and stay to recover and she never saw him again.’

  ‘But Harold remained in touch with him, because he collected him from Brixton and drove him back to his flat. Plus, he bought him a mobile.’

  ‘I asked him about that and he said that was the way he kept in touch, because Joyce wouldn’t let Rodney into their flat.’

  ‘Did you get a feeling that they blamed Rodney for the fire?’

  ‘Well, Harold said Joyce has always had the little girls’ photographs pinned up where she could see them. They are the first things she sees in the morning and the last thing she sees every night, but there are no photographs of Rodney; there used to a couple, but after the fire she tore them up, and she hated even hearing his name.’

  They arrived at the station and made their way through the press, who were still hovering around the front entrance. It was almost 10 p.m. and they got straight down to typing up their report for Jack.

  ‘I’m going to give him a call to give him the headlines,’ Laura said.

  ‘Which are?’ Anik said.

  ‘That Abena Mensah was possibly murdered, either by Rodney or by his father, and Joyce knows it. That’s what binds them together. We have no proof, but I think Jack can still use it. In the meantime, we can continue checking into immigration and passport control, and if we still get no result, we should check out the house and garden where they used to live, the one before the fire, to see if her remains are there.’

  ‘Bloody hell, this just gets worse at every turn,’ Anik said, shaking his head.

  ‘Too right, and you know if Jack hadn’t been so diligent in investigating Middleton, he could have got away with it.’

  *

  After Laura’s call, Jack sat in his office and thought about how he would use the information. He had intended to be home earlier to spend time with Maggie, but as usual, he’d been so immersed in preparing for the interview, he’d not arrived back in time to even see her, let alone take her for a ride in the Tesla, as she had gone to bed to be up early for her morning shift. After a while he turned off the light and went to bed himself. Maggie had left a mug of hot milk on his bedside table, along with a sleeping tablet. He wanted to wake her and kiss her, but instead he just sipped the warm milk and took the sleeping tablet.

  He was ready for the showdown.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Jack had shaved and showered by 7.30 a.m. He had asked Maggie to show him how to use her makeup to cover his black eye and it now looked almost invisible, the swelling having gone down completely. He doused himself with cologne and chose a white shirt with a starched collar and cuffs, which Penny had ironed. He then picked out a tie, trying a few before he was satisfied, and put on a pair of his smartest trousers, with a good sharp crease, and lastly a pair of side-zip boots. He tried on a couple of jackets and eventually chose a good quality tweed he had purchased from a charity shop. He combed back his thick curly hair, using a little bit of gel. After checking in the wardrobe mirror, he reckoned he looked the business.

  Collecting his briefcase from the office he found a note on it with a big red heart and a row of kisses, wishing him good luck. He was about to walk out when he remembered about booking a restaurant for dinner. He thought for a moment, then decided he’d try to get a table at the popular Firehouse as soon as it was open to take bookings.

  He knew today he would need all his wits about him, and just driving in his new car made him feel more confident. The press were waiting outside the station, but Jack had called ahead for the gates to be open and ready for him to drive straight into the backyard. One of the morning’s newspapers had a new headline: Suspect in Hammersmith killings to be charged.

  Waiting on his desk in the incident room was a fresh mug of coffee and the files he had requested, all neatly numbered with large, printed cards on the front of each. He double-checked the order and then stacked them in a cardboard box and placed them on his desk. He could feel the buzz in the incident room as everyone gathered, eagerly waiting for the prison wagon to arrive.

  It was 9.40 a.m. when the call came in that the suspect was on his way in a closed prison wagon, with two bike outriders. Clarke suspected the press would have someone in a building opposite or in a place from where they could see the wagon enter the yard, so he had given instructions that the prisoner should have a blanket to cover his head and that they should move very quickly to get him out of the wagon and into the back entrance to the station.

  Georgina Bamford was already at the station. She was dressed in an elegant two-piece suit with a white bow-necked shirt and black high-heels. Clarke thought her hair looked blonder than usual, and her makeup was a bit overdone, with glossy red lipstick to match her scarlet nail varnish. To complete the effect, she was wearing a chunky diamond ring, as well as a small diamond and gold chain on her slender wrist. Beneath her glossy exterior, however, she was not in a good mood, explaining to Clarke that since the Hammersmith Bridge had been closed, it took her twice as long to get anywhere from her house in Barnes.

  Clarke waited until she’d finished. ‘I have one question before the interview,’ he said. ‘You received a telephone call from Amanda Dunn, even though you are not legally representing her, and – ’

  She interrupted him, clearly taken aback that the police knew about it.

  ‘She simply called me at home. It was a very short conversation, and I obviously made it clear to her that I was not representing her and that she should contact Mr Bukhari.’

  Clarke smiled. ‘It was actually quite a lengthy call, Ms Bamford. Around fifteen minutes. I would appreciate it if you could tell me what you talked about.’

  ‘She wanted to get in touch with my client, saying she had a message for him.’

  ‘What was it?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘She just said to tell my client that “he knows!” I have no idea what she was referring to and I then ended the call.’

  ‘I see.’ Clarke was about to continue, when he got the call to say that Middleton’s arrival was imminent. He guided Ms Bamford through the incident room and into the elevator to take her down to the interview room, while the other officers stole glances at this glamorous figure who looked dressed for a cocktail party rather than an interview with a murder suspect.

  Jack was already in the interview room, his box of files set down beside him, and his notes and documents lined up on the table, along with bottles of water and a box of tissues. The sound engineer had already tested the microphones, camera and recorder, and there was a small monitor to show the CCTV footage. Everything was functioning perfectly and ready to be switched on.

  As DCI Clarke had insisted, there were only a handful of people in the viewing room: Glenda and two CSI detectives who had worked on the case. Glenda watched approvingly as Jack stood by his chair, rocking gently back and forth on the balls of his feet. She thought he looked like a boxer getting himself psyched up for a fight. And, like everyone else, she couldn’t wait to see his opponent.

  ‘They’re here,’ Hendricks said, looking out of the corridor window into the yard below. The outriders drove in, followed by the wagon, and the gates closed as the cameras flashed from outside the yard. Hendricks had to crane his neck to catch a glimpse of Middleton, as he was ushered out of the back doors of the wagon, in handcuffs and with a blanket covering his head.

  Two uniformed officers were waiting as Middleton was brought into the corridor. The blanket was removed but his handcuffs were to remain until he was inside the interrogation area. He followed the two officers in front while two followed behind, and was led down three flights of stairs.

  Glenda watched the lights come on in the main viewing room. She knew that any moment Middleton would be led in. Jack remained standing beside DCI Clarke, while Ms Bamford sat opposite them, nonchalantly inspecting her bracelet. She had a leather-bound notebook in front of her with an elegant gold pen beside it. No mobile phones were allowed.

  Anik arrived in the viewing room and took a seat, shortly joined by Laura. Glenda insisted that no more people should be allowed in.

  ‘She looks as if she’s waiting for someone to bring her a glass of wine,’ Laura said, nodding at Georgina Bamford.

  ‘Don’t let her appearance fool you, Laura; she is one sharp cookie,’ Glenda cautioned. ‘She’s got quite a fearsome reputation, and believe me, her claws will be sharpened.’

  There was a knock at the door as the officers accompanying Middleton arrived outside the interrogation room. They led him in and were given the nod to remove his handcuffs. He was wearing a worn black t-shirt, black trousers and black trainers.

  ‘He’s taller than I thought,’ Glenda said quietly. She leaned forwards.

  ‘He reminds me of OJ Simpson, a younger version obviously.’

  ‘I think he’s a cross between him and that Night Stalker, the one in LA,’ Laura said. ‘His hair is longer, but his eyes are similar. It looks to me as if he’s been working out in prison, too. Look at those muscles,’ she added, before someone told her to shush.

  The intercom was turned on so they could hear each person in the interview room introduce themselves. Rodney Middleton said his name with his head bowed. Then Clarke read him his rights, speaking clearly and slowly. Middleton did not react.

  Jack took out a file, laying it down on the table and opening it. He smiled across at Middleton.

  ‘Before I begin to question you, Mr Middleton, I think it is important that I give you some information regarding the DNA evidence we have gathered. I want you to clearly understand what exactly DNA is, because I am aware that you have had no formal education, and have no GCSEs or A Levels. You have also not been able to gain any employment and have lived the majority of your adult life on benefits – although I am sure it has required some degree of intelligence to work the system.’

  ‘I find all this unnecessary and insulting,’ Ms Bamford said sharply.

  Jack shrugged. ‘I am simply attempting to inform your client regarding the complex subject of DNA.’

  Jack had already caught the look in Middleton’s eyes and noticed the way he tightened his lips. He knew that by focusing on his lack of formal education and his inability to earn a living, he was chipping away at his narcissistic self-image. Middleton clearly didn’t like appearing inferior.

  Jack produced a stack of documents and photographs.

  ‘Now, even this tiny amount of blood’ – he picked up his pencil and on a blank sheet of paper made a small dot – ‘can provide vital DNA evidence, as the forensic scientists can tell us whose blood it is more precisely than a fingerprint. Now, to someone without formal education, this may be hard to grasp, but when our forensic scientists are evaluating DNA samples, they can also establish genetic relationships.’

  Again Jack noted how Middleton stiffened at the mention of his lack of education. Jack now began to place photographs of the tools removed from the coal hole in front of him. He pointed to the arrows on each photograph, indicating where traces of DNA had been detected. Ms Bamford impatiently leaned back in her chair as Middleton looked at each photograph. He paid close attention to the wire brush as Jack explained that they had discovered DNA caught between the wires and had concluded that it was not skin or tissue from the outer body, but scrapings from a human heart. With that discovery, they knew the victim could not have been alive.

  In the viewing room, Anik shook his head. He could not understand what Jack was doing, going into such detail about DNA.

  ‘You think he’s trying to bore him into talking?’ he suggested.

  Glenda frowned, nodding towards the viewing room.

  ‘Look what he’s showing him now.’

  Jack had been explaining how they had collected the samples from the bins in the basement, and about the extent of blood pooling in the coal hole. Then he leaned back in his chair. ‘So, Mr Middleton, you now understand about the evidence collected from the basement yard and the coal hole. Let me show you the next section.’

  ‘How long is this going to go on for?’ Ms Bamford snapped.

  Jack ignored her as he began to lay out the crime scene photographs from inside the basement flat. There was an enlarged picture of the hairs taken from the drain.

  ‘This is very interesting regarding DNA. As you can see, four of the tangled hairs discovered in your bathroom, and in the drain of the bath, had the small bulb or root attached. This made it very easy for the forensic scientists to match them with the samples from the victims’ hairbrushes. We gained further identifiable DNA from toothbrushes provided by the parents of the three victims. Now, another interesting point is contamination. This is important because we have two locations. We have the basement flat, where you lived with Amanda Dunn, and then we have the coal hole. So, it was imperative that we were able to prove, via DNA, that certain samples could not have been brought into that flat from the coal hole. This tells us with a high degree of certainty that no one other than yourself could have been responsible for those samples being there.’

  Jack could sense that Ms Bamford was about to interrupt, so quickly slapped down photographs of the bed-linen, pinpointing semen stains and both pubic and head hair.

  ‘Please can we forgo any more of your educational lectures, or I will be forced to end this interview,’ she snapped.

  ‘I am, Miss Bamford, simply making sure that your client, despite his lack of education, fully understands the nature of the forensic evidence.’

  As if to show that he did not take the repeated jibe about his lack of education seriously, Middleton just shrugged. Jack now removed the second file from the box and pulled out the three photographs of the victims. First was Jamail. With one finger he pushed the photograph across the table closer to Middleton.

  ‘Do you recognise the girl in this photograph?’