‘Well, call me a big wet libtard,’ Miller said. ‘But I don’t think killing people is a great look. That might just be me.’

  ‘You do your thing and I’ll do mine,’ Cutler said.

  Miller nodded and sat back, knowing that with a confession secured, in a room on the floor above Susan Akers and the rest of them would be punching the air. Sullivan would already be accepting the handshakes by now. ‘OK, let’s talk about Driscoll. When did you first meet him?’

  It was if Cutler suddenly remembered that he had a lawyer sitting next to him. He looked across at the man and nodded, then turned back to Miller.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘What, seriously?’ Miller asked.

  The lawyer blinked slowly and stared at his client with an expression that said, It’s a bit bloody late now, pal.

  ‘OK, well that seems like as good a time as any to take a quick break. Interview suspended at . . . twelve forty-seven p.m.’ Miller turned off the recording equipment, but made no move to leave.

  ‘Are we done?’ the lawyer asked.

  ‘I think you probably are.’

  The lawyer looked to Cutler for an OK, then scuttled from the room as soon as the nod was given, looking very much as if he was considering a career change. Hairdressing maybe, or something in the theatre.

  Cutler sat staring at Miller. Defiant but evidently intrigued.

  ‘It’s just a quick one really,’ Miller said, quietly. ‘Off the record . . . for the time being anyway. I get that it’s a big ask, considering where we are and what the outcome’s very likely to be. Bearing that in mind though, it strikes me that you might just think . . . sod it, why the hell not do something helpful for a change? So, here’s the thing, Wayne. There was one more murder I was hoping you might be able to give me a hand with . . . ’

  SIXTY-SIX

  What with it being the middle of the day and there being an interview yet to be completed and them being highly responsible police officers and suchlike, there hadn’t been any bottles cracked open in celebration. Well, not that Miller could see. There was certainly a party atmosphere in the place though, and he did suspect that one or two of the mugs being cradled by all and sundry might contain something a little stronger than tea.

  ‘You’re a star, mate,’ Clough shouted, raising his mug in salute. ‘An absolute bloody star.’

  Yeah, maybe tea with a shot of whatever Tony Clough kept in his bottom drawer along with a variety of emergency pies.

  For the second time in as many weeks, Miller had been greeted like a conquering hero. As per his rescue of Keith Slack, a round of applause had broken out as soon as he’d walked into the incident room and, were it not for the other things on his mind, Miller’s reaction would definitely have been a bit . . . showier. On any other occasion he might have gone as far as a contained but triumphant lap of honour. He might even have clambered up on to his desk to conduct the songs being bellowed in tribute to one of the finest pieces of detective work in the history of the force.

  He would have returned a few high-fives at the very least.

  As it was, Miller stood quietly at the back of the small crowd and listened as Susan Akers made a short and heartfelt speech. He proffered a thumbs-up when she mentioned his name. He glanced at his watch when nobody was looking and, with what appeared to be uncharacteristic humility, he just shrugged when she talked about a successful operation that she could safely say had made the streets of their town a whole lot safer.

  Then everyone – even Tim Sullivan – began to clap again and someone shouted, ‘Speech!’

  Miller took another quick look at his watch, slapped a hand to his breast and started to gabble. ‘OK . . . well I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I didn’t prepare anything, but I have so many people to thank, obviously. My family for always telling me to believe in myself and teaching me how to stay grounded. My therapist, my agent, my therapist’s agent and my agent’s therapist—’ He looked across and saw Akers frowning. ‘Er . . . right, well, it’s not every day you get to put away someone like Wayne Cutler.’

  ‘And Frank Bardsley,’ Akers added.

  ‘Brank Fardsley,’ Clough shouted, leading Miller to believe that whatever was in the DC’s Mr Men mug, very little of it was actually tea.

  ‘Yeah, him as well. But it’s a team effort, so we should all be patting ourselves on the back, because this is a good day.’ Miller looked around at the smiling faces and produced a grin of his own. The day was far from being over and, if the next half an hour or so of it went according to plan, it would certainly end up being the best he’d had for a very long time. ‘So anyway, that’s it. Onwards and upwards and . . . enjoy your tea.’

  There was another smattering of applause as people coalesced into smaller groups and a few of the more dedicated officers drifted back towards their desks. Miller turned towards the door, ready to leave, but Susan Akers intercepted him.

  ‘What can I say, Dec? That was quite the job you did on Cutler in there. Though I’m not sure your interview technique would make any force teaching seminars.’

  ‘If it did, I’d change it,’ Miller said.

  ‘I meant what I said. Getting that man put away is seriously good news for everyone. Well, with the possible exception of Serious and Organised of course, whose noses might be a little out of joint. You’ve not so much done them a favour as done their job for them.’ She smiled as she touched her mug to his. ‘I have to say, I’m very much looking forward to the “congrats” phone call from DCI Perks.’

  Miller knew that word had already reached the top floor, because he’d received a text from Bob Perks within two minutes of leaving the interview room. If the man thought his toes had been trodden on, he did not sound awfully displeased about it.

  We’re all on the same team, Dec. Alex would have been very proud. Bob.

  It was time for Miller to leave and when Tim Sullivan slid across to bask in the DCI’s praise for his team’s efforts, Miller grabbed the chance to move away.

  He found Sara Xiu standing between him and the door.

  ‘Well, this is pretty great, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s absolutely fantastic,’ Miller said. ‘Hugely moving. In fact, the whole thing’s been a treat from start to finish. Now if you’ll excuse me . . . ’

  He moved to step round her, and she moved to stand in his way.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I need to head off.’

  ‘You can’t go yet,’ Xiu said. ‘I hate to spoil the surprise, but for once there’s actually going to be cake.’

  Miller looked round. ‘Where?’

  ‘I think they sent a uniform down to the shops for one.’

  ‘OK, well that’s a shame, because, you know . . . cake, but there’s somewhere I really need to be.’ He looked at her then nodded meaningfully upwards. ‘Someone I need to see and something I cannot bloody wait to do.’

  Xiu’s eyes widened the moment she understood. ‘Right now?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Miller said. ‘It’s showtime, Posh.’

  She stepped closer to him, then whispered urgently, ‘I know you won’t need any help with this, but if you do just shout. I’ll be straight up there with everything I can lay my hands on. Taser, telescopic baton, whatever you need.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

  ‘I mean it,’ she said. ‘Anything.’

  Miller reached across to squeeze her shoulder. ‘Thanks. I know you do, but don’t worry, I’ve already laid on some support.’ He stepped towards the door, then turned to issue vital last-minute instructions. ‘I hope I don’t need to tell you that if it’s a Colin the Caterpillar cake—’

  Xiu nodded, serious. ‘You want the face.’

  ‘Yes, obviously.’

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  This time, Miller had called ahead to avoid being ducked or otherwise fobbed off. He needn’t have bothered, though. If the fact that he wasn’t glared at too much as he walked through the squad room hadn’t made it plain enough, he could tell by the unexpected warmth of DCI Lindsey Forgeham’s welcome – a smile, the offer of a seat and a hot drink – that news of Cutler’s confession had preceded him.

  He felt like a reality TV star who’d actually done something.

  ‘Sounds like someone had quite the morning,’ Forgeham said.

  ‘Well, I can’t speak for anyone else,’ Miller said. ‘But I certainly started the day off in very fine style with the most sublime boiled egg. I mean, they’re harder to get perfect than people think, but this one was just magnificent.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Forgeham shook her head. ‘No, why are you talking about it?’

  ‘I had Marmite soldiers, too.’ Miller blew a chef’s kiss.

  Forgeham’s second smile was not perhaps as warm as her first. ‘You’re definitely something of an oddball, DS Miller—’

  ‘None taken—’

  ‘—and I think that’s putting it kindly. I have to say, I’m not altogether sure you’d last very long on my team, but there’s no denying that you get the job done.’

  ‘Oh, I’m all job, me, ma’am. Job, job, job, twenty-four-seven.’

  ‘Yes, well, if we can move on from your breakfast, the result you’ve had today is certainly a very big one.’

  ‘Imagine if I got two,’ Miller said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Two big results, on the same day. Just imagine if I somehow managed to put another killer away in . . . I don’t know, the next twenty minutes, say. What d’you reckon the odds on that would be?’

  ‘I really have no idea.’

  ‘They’d be astronomical,’ Miller said. ‘I think you’d get shorter odds on Ant or Dec becoming the next pope. Personally, I’d plump for Ant, because I think the robes would really suit him, but I can see why that might be a controversial choice. Long odds, that’s essentially my point. Long odds on me collaring another murderer.’ He leaned towards her. ‘But if Ladbrokes would be willing to take your money, I’d get yourself down there pronto, because I’m telling you, it’d be a seriously

  canny bet.’

  The DCI sat back and narrowed her eyes, as though she was starting to regret welcoming Miller into her office at all. ‘And this hypothetical second individual, is he or she a suspect in a case I’d be familiar with?’

  ‘He,’ Miller said. ‘And he’s rather more than a suspect.’

  ‘The question still stands.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t get lost and stumble in here by accident, did I?’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  Miller began to tell her, but he’d got no further than explaining to Lindsey Forgeham exactly why she’d be very familiar with the case when she raised a hand to stop him.

  ‘I really don’t like where this is going,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I can’t help that, and trust me, it’s going exactly where you think it’s going. It makes perfect sense, don’t you think? All that time, there I was suggesting that your investigation was proceeding rather more slowly than might have been expected, when really it wasn’t proceeding at all.’

  ‘We had this conversation last time you were here, DS Miller.’

  ‘Yes we did, and I’m as convinced now as I was then that your own conduct has been unimpeachable, ma’am. How could I think otherwise when, as I’m sure you remember, I’m madly in love with you?’

  ‘Let’s not start that nonsense again.’

  ‘Sadly, I can’t say the same for everyone on your team,’ Miller said. ‘The unimpeachable thing, not the madly in love thing—’

  ‘Are you actually going to name this individual you’re talking about?’

  ‘Oh, abso-bloody-lutely I am.’ Miller could see that Forgeham was running out of patience. ‘I’m guessing you’d like me to talk you through the evidence as well.’

  Forgeham stared at him, steely. ‘It never hurts, does it?’

  Miller began to lay it all out again, but aside from the name and what he’d seen on his laptop, he didn’t get much further than he had the first time. He stopped, more than a little irritated, when he saw Forgeham shaking her head. ‘You’re not really letting me get into my stride here.’

  ‘No, and I’ve got no intention of letting you go any further.’ Forgeham got to her feet. ‘You really think you can come waltzing in here and accuse one of my officers of murder based on nothing more than something you saw on a grainy bit of video? Something you think you saw.’

  ‘Oh, I definitely saw it,’ Miller said. ‘But you’re right, it’s still a bit . . . flimsy . . . and if that was the only evidence I had, I wouldn’t have come waltzing in here at all. As it is, I would have been perfectly happy to come into your office doing a bloody tango, and, bearing in mind the circumstances of my wife’s death, I’m sure you can appreciate how ironic that would have been. Because no, I’m not accusing your officer based solely on his actions in that video. There’s also the small matter of the regular payments he received from Wayne Cutler which he’s been hiding in an offshore account under a false name.’

  Forgeham blinked. ‘Can I ask how you know about this?’

  ‘You can ask, but you’ll have to forgive me if I’d rather not reveal my sources at this point.’ It was a shame, because Miller knew how much Nathan would have loved to get the credit, and how disappointed he was when he’d found out that the results of his totally illegal hacking efforts were not admissible in court. Miller had already promised him free drinks in the Bull’s Head for six months and he’d be sure to let everyone (especially Ruth) know what a sterling job Nathan had done on his behalf. ‘I’ll let you have the details, obviously. You can check it all out through more official channels and you’ll be able to confirm that the financial evidence against this man is very much waltz-worthy.’

  Forgeham said nothing.

  ‘There was definitely one other thing.’ Miller began to count off on his fingers, as though the piece of information he’d deliberately saved until the end had temporarily slipped his mind. ‘The video . . . the payments into his iffy bank account and . . . oh yes, Wayne Cutler named him about an hour ago.’ He saw the shock on Forgeham’s face. ‘I know. Who would have thought that someone as uniquely horrible as Cutler had it in him to do the right thing? You live and learn, right, ma’am?’

  Miller stood and walked towards the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Well, based on all that evidence we’ve just been discussing, I rather thought I’d go and arrest the bastard.’

  Forgeham walked smartly around her desk. ‘Now, hang on a second, DS Miller. When it comes to the distance you must maintain from this investigation, I’m afraid that nothing has changed.’

  Miller shrugged. ‘Of course. I know that my relationship with this man’s victim – or to be more accurate, one of his victims – makes my involvement a tad problematic. I understand that I can’t be directly involved, and that once he’s been arrested, I probably won’t see him again until he’s in the dock and I’m in the witness box.’ He stared towards the incident room and squared his shoulders. ‘But I would advise you or anyone else who doesn’t believe I should be the one to put this man in handcuffs to think twice before they try and stop me.’

  Forgeham said nothing.

  Miller opened the door. ‘Oh, and you probably won’t make it down to Ladbrokes in time, but if you’re quick you might still be able to get that bet down online.’

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  There were even more people staring in Miller’s direction when he came out of Forgeham’s office than there had been when he’d gone in and he wondered if any of their conversation might have been overheard. He didn’t think he’d raised his voice, but it was certainly possible. He was as focused as he’d ever been, as single-minded, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t lost control for a moment or two or said something stupid, because it never did.

  He didn’t always remember, not immediately anyway.

  Hadn’t Alex told him often enough?

  Miller was perfectly capable of saying something he shouldn’t have at almost any time.

  It was funny – funny enough to make Miller actually smile – that the only person who wasn’t looking at him, or looking while pretending not to, was the man he was there to have a few quiet words with. To take one last good look at, before that man was frog-marched down to the booking area and from there to a cell.

  ‘I want it to be over. Whatever it is you find out.’

  ‘What happens then?’

  This, Miller thought. This is what happens . . .

  He was sitting at a desk with his back to the door of Forgeham’s office and, even if Miller hadn’t quite crept up on him, he guessed it was the noise that finally made Detective Constable Christopher Palmer turn round.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Miller was trying to click all four of his fingers in quick succession, passing the tips of them rapidly across the top of his thumb to make a sound like very quiet castanets. ‘I’m not quite as good at it as you are,’ Miller said, trying again.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe if there’d been any sound on that video I’d have worked it out quicker. I got there eventually though, right? That’s what counts.’

  Palmer laughed as he held out his arms and looked to several of his colleagues who were sitting close by. ‘Has anyone got the first idea what this nutter’s on about?’