Текст книги "The Surrogate"

Автор книги: Tania Carver

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

44

‘You know,’ said Phil, as if imparting an intimate secret to an old friend, ‘you didn’t have to do all that. With the grab and the metal.’

‘No?’ Brotherton looked genuinely interested.

Phil was working Brotherton hard, but not letting the other man know what he was doing. The technique was working well. He had seen hardened criminals respond to it. Even coppers who had strayed over the line and ended up on the other side of the table responded to it. And they had been trained not to.

But Phil didn’t want to get cocky. He stayed focused, concentrated. He still had a long way to go.

‘No,’ he said. ‘If you’d wanted to do Clayton or me some damage, why didn’t you just hit one of us?’

‘That would have been assault, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yeah, but it could have bought you time; you could have got away. And then a good lawyer could have argued it out later. Said I was harassing you or something.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ Phil thought it best not to mention the attempted murder charge now hanging over Brotherton’s head. He didn’t want to break the flow. ‘You could have done that. I mean,’ he said, ‘you’ve got the muscles for it.’ He waited a few seconds, let his words sink in, then continued. ‘I like to think I keep myself in pretty good shape, but to get the kind of body you’ve got, you must be very dedicated. That’s not just from working in the yard, is it?’

‘Nah,’ said Brotherton, unconsciously flexing his biceps. ‘I work out.’

‘Thought so. How long have you been doing that, then?’

Brotherton’s eyes looked to the right. ‘Since my early twenties. About fifteen years?’

‘That is dedication. Whereabouts?’

Again a look to the right. ‘Used to work out in the leisure centre on the Avenue of Remembrance. But now it’s the gym up in High Woods.’

‘Good place. I like a good workout but I’m between gyms at the moment. Just moved house.’ He laughed. ‘But I’m nowhere near your league. What’s High Woods like? Would I like it?’

Brotherton frowned, his eyes falling down to the left. ‘Yeah. It’s a gym, you know? Leisure facilities, they’ve got a pool, sauna.’ He nodded. ‘Not as bad as some places, not as cliquey. But you know. Gym’s a gym when it comes down to it.You get out what you put in.’

Phil nodded, apparently giving the matter some thought. ‘Good.’ He put his hand behind his back, moved it up and down. There was a knocking on the mirror.

Brotherton jumped. Phil affected to.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘They must want me. I’ll be right back.’

He got up and left the room.

Marina was waiting for him when he entered the room.

‘Did you get all that?’ he said.

‘Yep. Eyes to the right, he’s remembering. Eyes to the left, he’s thinking.’

Phil gave a grim smile. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t have a squint or a nervous tic. Then we’re completely buggered.’

Marina returned the smile.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘We good to go?’

‘I think so.’

Neurolinguistic interviewing technique involved two different kinds of questions: remembering and cognitive. The innocuous questions, as well as lulling the subject into a false sense of security, established a yardstick to judge all subsequent answers by. A subject’s body language would be different for each kind of answer. When asked a remembering question, Brotherton looked down to the right. But when asked a thinking question, he looked away to the left. Phil and Marina now knew that if he was asked a remembering question and answered as he would for a thinking question, he was buying himself time, working on an answer. In short, probably lying.

‘Sorry about all that . . . stuff. In there,’ said Phil.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Marina, her head down in her notes. ‘You were working. No apologies necessary.’

‘Right,’ he said, and picked up a file folder from the desk. It had Brotherton’s name written on the front. ‘Off I go. Wish me luck.’

She smiled. ‘You don’t need it.’

He returned the smile. ‘Do it anyway.’

‘Good luck.’

‘Thank you.’

He left her alone once more. She looked at the mirror. Waited for it to start again.

45

Clayton looked around the room. He was beginning to know how it felt to be on the other side of the table. Like he was the one trapped, about to give himself away, be caught out by his own lies. He looked at Sophie. She caught his eye, glanced away in disgust. He didn’t blame her.

He checked his watch, sighed. It seemed to be showing the same time as when he had last looked. Another sigh. Like waiting in a doctor’s surgery, he thought. For test results to come back and confirm the worst. Something bad. Something terminal.

Another sigh. He resisted the temptation to check his watch again.

‘Your boyfriend’s probably given it up by now.’

Sophie stared at him. ‘I doubt it.’ Her words seemed strong but he sensed nervousness behind them. ‘He’s not the type.’

Clayton shook his head. ‘They’re all the type.’ He drew his sleeve back, fought not to bring his eyes to his wrist. Let his sleeve fall back into place. ‘He’s no different.’

Sophie sat forward, about to argue, but decided against it. Slumped back into the seat. Defeated.

Clayton could empathise with her. He had never felt so—

His thought went uncompleted. The door to the interview room opened and Anni Hepburn entered. She was carrying a document wallet under her arm and had a look of triumph in her eyes. She gave a start when she saw him but controlled it well, crossing to the table, pulling up a chair placed against the wall and sitting down next to Clayton.

She gave him a brittle, yet unreadable smile and looked at Sophie. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said. ‘I’m DC Hepburn. I believe you already know my colleague DS Thompson.’

She looked towards Clayton as she spoke. There was no mistaking the message in her eyes. The doctor had arrived with the test results.

‘Right.’ Anni opened the folder, read down. Clayton knew there was often nothing in these files they brought out in front of suspects; they were just props. There was nothing someone who had a problem with authority found more terrifying, a training officer had once explained, than someone in authority holding a file on them.

Anni looked up, seemingly startled to find Clayton still there. ‘I thought you were off this case now?’

Clayton felt his cheeks warming up. ‘Yeah. I’ll just . . .’ He rose, scraped his chair back along the floor. Made his way reluctantly to the door and out. He glanced at Sophie before he left, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring straight ahead, her face unreadable.

Once outside the room, Clayton looked quickly round, then made his way as fast as he could to Ben Fenwick’s office. There was a CCTV relay in there and he could watch the interview on it. He ran up the stairs, stood outside, getting his breath back, knocked. No reply. He tried the handle. Open. He went inside, set the TV monitor up. Started watching.

‘Sophie Gale,’ Anni was saying as he turned it on.

‘Yes.’ Sophie’s voice was dry and cracked.

Anni looked up from the file, directly at her. ‘But that’s not your real name, is it?’

‘It’s . . .’ Sophie looked towards where Clayton had been sitting. She seemed to have guessed which way this was going to go and, now that he was no longer there, suddenly needed an ally.

‘It’s not your real name,’ said Anni; not a question, a statement.

Sophie nodded.

‘Gail Johnson. That’s the name under which you first came to our attention. When you were a prostitute.’

‘Yes.’

A tight smile from Anni. ‘Good.’ She looked down at the file again, pretended to be reading. ‘Charges were never brought against you, were they?’

Something hardened in Sophie. ‘You know they weren’t. And you know why.’

‘Yes. I know why. Just found out today.’ Anni’s gaze went to the screen.

Clayton jumped back. Was she looking at him? Did she know he was watching?

She continued. ‘You were an informant. You were protected. ’

Sophie nodded.

Anni’s voice changed. Became less accusatory. ‘Very good. Can’t have been easy to do that. Downright dangerous at times, I would have thought.’

Sophie shrugged. Clayton could tell she was thawing. He knew Anni was playing her.

‘Having to go with men you didn’t want to was bad enough. But then having to come and tell us about it . . . bad men, dangerous men . . . that’s real bravery. I mean it.’ And she sounded like she did. She smiled.

‘Thank you.’ Sophie returned the smile.

‘How long did you do that for?’

Sophie thought. ‘Oh . . . feels like for ever. But it also feels like it happened years ago. To someone else.’

‘So how long?’

‘About five years.’

Anni looked impressed. ‘Long time.’

‘Felt like it.’

Anni nodded, smiled. ‘But that’s all in the past now.’

‘Absolutely. New life, new everything.’ Sophie gave a tentative smile. Even on CCTV, Clayton could see that her guard was starting to drop. He knew exactly what Anni was doing. And what the end result would be. And he was powerless to stop her.

‘So.’ Anni looked back at the file. Pretended to be reading. ‘Wednesday the seventeenth. You were at home. With Ryan Brotherton.Your boyfriend. In the house you share together.’ She looked up. ‘That right?’

‘Yes.’

Back to the file. ‘And you were there all night. Watching DVDs. Eating takeaway food.’

Sophie nodded.

Anni looked directly at her, the earlier friendliness now completely absent. ‘No you weren’t.You’re lying.’

Sophie was taken aback by the words.

The test results were back, thought Clayton. And they were positive.

46

‘But let’s put that to one side,’ said Anni. ‘We’ll get to that. Let’s talk about Ryan first. How did you meet him?’

Sophie, shaken from Anni’s previous words, trotted out the same story Clayton had heard the previous night. She was seeing one of Ryan’s competitors, she heard there was a job going, she applied, was taken on, then dumped her boyfriend and took up with Brotherton. Anni listened, nodded, said nothing.

There was silence while she consulted the file once more. Clayton watched the monitor helplessly. There was nothing he could do. Anni was controlling things now.

‘Did you know Susie Evans, Sophie?’

Sophie seemed to be deciding on what her answer should be. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But not very well.’

‘You got pulled in with her. On a raid.’ Anni read down. ‘Couple of raids.’

Sophie nodded, but said nothing.

‘Did Ryan, your boyfriend, know Susie Evans?’

Clayton saw the fear and desperation in Sophie’s eyes as she stared at Anni. ‘No. I don’t know. Not that I know of.’

‘Which one is it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know.’

‘If he did, he never mentioned it.’

‘Right.’ Anni flipped over a few pages, brought out another sheet of paper. ‘Funny, that, because his name has come up a couple of times where hers is concerned. Quite a few times, actually. And yours is there too.’

Sophie again looked round, trying to find help and support from some corner of the room, fear now rampant in her eyes. Clayton, in the office, looked at Anni, knew that look on her face. She was trying not to smile. She had something.

‘Yes. When you and she were picked up a few times, he was picked up too. Never charged, which was why it took me so long to find the information, but his name was taken. Don’t you think that’s a strange coincidence?’

Sophie looked at the table. ‘Yes. It’s a coincidence.’

‘A coincidence. Right. So it’s a coincidence that you knew Susie Evans. Worked with her. And that Ryan Brotherton knew Susie Evans. And that Ryan is now your boyfriend. And Susie Evans is dead. Murdered. And Ryan’s ex-girlfriend, Claire Fielding, is also dead. And Ryan, your boyfriend, the one you were eating takeaway food with and watching DVDs with the other night, has a history of violence towards women. A problem with women, in fact. A very serious problem.’ She sat back, her eyes locked on to Sophie like laser beams. ‘Quite a coincidence.’

Sophie looked frantically at Anni.

Anni leaned forward. ‘You want to tell me the truth now?’

Sophie’s head dropped into her hands. ‘No . . . He’ll kill me . . .’

‘Yes,’ said Anni, her tone conciliatory yet steely. ‘He very well might. So I’m your only chance, Sophie. You’d better talk to me. Right?’

She nodded.

‘Truth this time.’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘The truth.’

Phil walked back into the interview room holding a document file. On the file was Ryan Brotherton’s name. He set it on the table, resumed his seat. Brotherton looked expectantly at him. Phil opened the file, glanced at the contents. Raised his eyebrows.

‘Oh, Ryan . . .’

‘What?’ Brotherton craned his neck forward, trying to see what was written there. Phil moved it further away from him.

‘Jesus, you have been a naughty boy . . .’ He held his gaze on the pages for a few more seconds, just long enough for Brotherton’s anxiety levels to increase, then flipped the cover of the file closed and looked levelly at him. This was a different Phil from the one who had left the room. He had appeared to be Brotherton’s friend, someone on his side. This new Phil was something different. A professional. A heat-seeking missile zeroing in on his target. And he wasn’t going to miss.

‘Where were you on the night of Wednesday the seventeenth of November?’ he asked.

Brotherton looked startled at Phil’s abrupt tone.

‘Where were you?’

‘I was . . .’ His eyes slipped away to the left. ‘At home. With Sophie. We watched a DVD, I told you this.’

‘Liar. Where were you?’

‘I told you where I was . . .’ Eyes straight ahead, imploring, trying to hold Phil’s gaze, saying: Would I lie to you? ‘That’s the truth.’

‘You’re lying, Ryan. Where were you? Between eight p.m. and two a.m.? When Claire Fielding, your ex-girlfriend, the mother of your child, was being murdered, where were you?’

‘I’ve told you.’ Eyes left. ‘At home. Watching a DVD. With Sophie. Ask her.’

Phil gave a small, tight smile. ‘We will. Don’t worry about that. Can you trust her?’

‘What?’

‘Can you trust her? To lie for you?’

Eyes away to the left. Thinking. ‘I can trust her. Yeah.’ Defiance in his voice.

Phil sat back, not taking his eyes off the other man. Time for something else. ‘When did Claire first tell you she was pregnant?’

Brotherton thought, looking down to the right. ‘About . . . five, six months ago.’

‘And what was your reaction?’

‘I’ve told you. I didn’t believe her.’

‘But you soon did.’

Brotherton shrugged.

‘She soon convinced you. Because you told her you wanted her to get rid of it, didn’t you?’

Brotherton stared at him, said nothing.

‘In fact you said that if she didn’t, then you would. With your own hands. Isn’t that right?’

Fear appeared on Brotherton’s face. ‘I . . . I want my solicitor . . . I’m not sayin’ another word without my solicitor bein’ present.’

‘We’ve called her, she’s on her way.’

Rage and fear clouded Brotherton’s face. ‘She? What the fuck d’you mean, she? Where’s Warnock?’

Phil could barely keep the smile off his face. ‘We phoned your solicitor, Mr Warnock. He’s . . . unavailable, apparently. But they’re sending someone from the practice. Bit young, but very good, they say.’The smile appeared. ‘She’s just finished working with victims of domestic abuse in a women’s refuge, I think they said. I’m sure she’ll be very interested in all this.’ Phil didn’t know anything of the sort, but he knew what kind of effect his words would have.

Brotherton said nothing. Phil knew he had hit the bullseye. Brotherton would talk to him now.

‘So you offered to give Claire Fielding, your girlfriend, an abortion. With your own bare hands, is that right?’

‘It wasn’t like that . . .’

Phil leaned across the table. ‘What was it like then, Ryan? Tell me. Make me understand.’

‘She . . . I didn’t believe her at first. But then I had to.’

‘And you got angry.’

He nodded.

‘You didn’t want a kid around the place. It would stifle you, tie you down, that right?’

Another nod.

‘Too much responsibility. So you made that very generous offer.’

Brotherton said nothing.

‘And what was Claire’s response?’

Brotherton still said nothing.

‘No? I’ll tell you then, shall I? She left you. Summoned up the courage to walk out on you.’

‘No she didn’t. I threw her out.’ His eyes away to the left as he spoke.

‘No you didn’t. That’s a lie. She left you. But you could-n’t take it, could you? Couldn’t take some piece of skirt walking out on you. Especially not a pregnant one. How hurt was your pride?Your ego?’

Brotherton shrugged. ‘Same as anyone else’s.’

‘Same as anyone else’s. So what did you do next?’

‘Nothin’.’

‘Liar.You phoned her. Texted her. Threatened her.’

‘No I didn’t . . .’

‘Yes you did, Ryan. We’ve got her phone records.’ Not strictly true, thought Phil, but they were on the way. He was confident they would show that he was telling the truth.

Brotherton’s head went down. Phil had been right. He didn’t have time to gloat; he had an advantage. He had to press it.

‘You stalked her?’

‘No.’ Eyes away to the left. A lie.

Phil hid his smile. Another bullseye. ‘Yes you did, Ryan. You stalked her. Why? Because she’d dared to escape, to run away? Because you couldn’t have her where you wanted her to torment? Yeah?’

Silence.

‘So what did you think you would achieve by stalking her? Would that get her back?’

Brotherton said nothing.

Phil regarded him coolly. He was well in the zone now, thinking and acting intuitively. On fire but controlling it.

‘Did you like the feeling of power it gave you, is that it? Do you think it scared her?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Because you like scaring women, don’t you?’

‘Fuck off!’

‘Like hurting them . . .’

Brotherton stood up, swinging his arms. ‘Fuck off!’

The uniformed officer waiting at the door stepped forward, ready to grab him if he made a move. Phil got to his feet too. Brotherton moved forward. He was going to go for him.

47

H e stood up, opened his eyes. Allowed himself a few seconds of indulgence. Smiled.

His prey was gone. Dead. The birthing room trashed. Order had become chaos. He could feel the blood of his prey soaking into his clothes. He loved that feeling. Luxuriated in it.

It had started when he used to hunt rabbits and deer in the woods. There was the planning, the preparation.Then the chase, the thrill of the kill.Then that moment of power, looking down on something that had recently been alive, knowing he had had the power of life and death over it.And had chosen death. He used to get his knife out and quickly slit the animal open. Steam would rush out as the hot innards and blood collided with the cooler air. Blood would spurt and fountain and he would catch it. Spray it on to himself, feel the hot, glistening liquid warm his skin, smell the dark, coppery scent of his prey. Spraying it down his throat, swallowing it down. It felt like he was taking the spirit of the slain beast, ingesting it, letting it feed him.

He looked down at his prey, lying there on the floor of her living room. He had wanted to do just that. Catch her blood in his hands as it had spurted out, strip naked, rub it all over himself, feel her on his skin.

But he hadn’t. He had to be disciplined about this hunt. Focused on his objective. He had no time to ingest the spirit.

Or did he . . . He looked down at the small, kicking baby he had cut out of her. Birthed in blood, its midwife a blade and a dying host. He smiled. There was the spirit, the life force from within her. He was taking that instead.

He took out the blanket he had prepared, wrapped the baby up, put it in his rucksack.

Left the house, closing the door behind him.

He walked down the street feeling like a god amongst mortals.

No one saw him go.

48

The door of the observation room opened and Anni Hepburn rushed in. Marina reluctantly took her attention away from the mirror.

‘I think Phil needs help,’ she said.

‘Never mind that,’ said Anni. ‘He can handle himself. We’ve got something. Ryan Brotherton used prostitutes. He knew Susie Evans. And Sophie Gale. That’s how they met. He’s known her for years. She’s also told us that Brotherton was out on Wednesday night. The night Claire and Julie were murdered.’ She looked at the screen, took in the standoff that was taking place. ‘Tell Phil. Now.’

‘Ask him about prostitutes.’ Marina’s voice was loud and sharp in Phil’s ear.

‘What?’

‘It’ll calm him down, wrong-foot him. Anything. Just ask him. Now!’

‘What about the prostitutes, Ryan?’

The big man was close to hyperventilating. The uniformed officer ready to intercede.

Phil raised his voice. ‘Prostitutes, Ryan. You ever used them?’

Brotherton’s head jerked suddenly upwards. He stopped in his tracks. ‘What? What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Come on, Ryan.You hate women that much, sometimes it’s easier to pay to vent your frustrations, isn’t it?’

‘No.’ He sounded disgusted. His eyes went away to the left. Lying.

‘He knew Susie Evans,’ said Marina in his ear. ‘Was a customer of hers. That’s how he met Sophie Gale. They worked together. And she’s also told us he was out on Wednesday night.’

Phil tried not to let his emotions show. He kept his face as blank as possible. ‘Sit down, Ryan. Let’s talk.’

Phil sat down. Brotherton, getting his breath back, did likewise.

‘Now,’ said Phil. ‘You sure? You’ve never used prostitutes?’

‘No. Never.’ Eyes again to the left. Another lie. ‘I don’t have to pay for sex. I don’t need to.’

‘Might not just be for sex, though, might it?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘You know what I mean, Ryan. You like beating up women. Sometimes the women in your life don’t like it and walk out. Or testify against you and get you banged up. So you need an outlet. A bit of release. Would have thought prostitutes would fill the bill nicely.’

‘You’d have thought wrong.’ His voice sounded weak.

Phil sat back, regarding him again. ‘I don’t believe you, Ryan. You see, I’m good at my job. I sit here and I listen to people sitting where you are. They want me to believe what they’re telling me. And most of them are liars. Some of them are very good. Some of them I nearly believe.’ He folded his arms. ‘But not you, Ryan. I know you’re lying.’

‘Prove it.’ Brotherton aimed for defiance in his voice, missed.

‘Okay,’ said Phil.

Anni Hepburn had just left the observation room to return to questioning Sophie Gale when the door opened again and an out-of-breath Ben Fenwick entered. Marina took her attention from Phil, looked at him. She had never seen him so dishevelled yet so elated. He looked wired.

‘Let me in,’ he said, making for the desk.

Marina moved aside, let him take over the microphone. Fenwick took a few seconds to regain his breath before he spoke. While waiting, he turned to Marina.

‘How’s he doing?’

‘Good,’ she said. She didn’t want to commit herself to anything else. Especially after the way Fenwick had spoken to her earlier. She didn’t want to tell him that it looked like Phil was about to crack Brotherton, that he was homing in for the kill. That Fenwick had been right and she had been wrong.

Fenwick smiled. It was the kind of glassy-eyed leer a coked-up City trader would give. ‘Well he’s going to be even better after I tell him this.’ He opened the channel, spoke into the mic. ‘Phil? Ben Fenwick.’

Marina watched Phil’s expression through the mirror. His head jerked upwards and he stopped talking immediately. He didn’t reply but they knew he was listening.

‘The Birdies have been singing.’ Fenwick laughed at his own joke.

Technically, thought Marina, now irritated with the man, the Birdies had been making other people sing.

‘They’ve gone through the records of the estate agency Lisa King worked for. Guess what? Brotherton was registered with them. He looked at houses through them. Lisa King’s name comes up a couple of times as showing him round some properties. Phil, we’ve got the bastard!’

Fenwick turned to Marina, a leering smile on his face. ‘Police work,’ he said.

In the interview room, Phil once again did his best not to respond. Instead he leaned back, regarding Brotherton quizzically. Brotherton looked down at the table, clearly scared.

‘You asked me to prove it,’ said Phil. ‘Prove you killed Claire and Julie. Okay. I will. There’s a few ways I could do that. Let me ask you something. How long have you been in your house?’

Brotherton frowned. It wasn’t the question he had been expecting.

‘How long?’

He shrugged. ‘Couple of months.’

And you were on the books of Haskell Robins estate agents?’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t buy from them.’

‘But one of their estate agents turned up dead, didn’t she?’

Brotherton frowned again.

‘Lisa King. Twenty-six years old. Married. Found in an empty property with her stomach ripped open. Pregnant.’

‘Wait a minute . . .’

Phil pressed on. ‘Right. Just circumstantial. Tenuous. I know. Try this, then. I could tell you that your name’s come up as someone who’s been questioned in brothel raids. A few of them. What would you say to that?’

Brotherton, visibly shaken, said nothing.

‘Okay. So you’ve got a hatred of women.You beat up girlfriends, you beat up prostitutes. Now, one of these prostitutes you say you didn’t know was Susie Evans. And you know what happened to her. She was murdered too. While she was pregnant. Her stomach ripped open, the baby taken out. Was that yours too?’

Brotherton looked frantically round the room, realised there was no escape.

‘You stalk women who dump you, threaten them. Your own girlfriend is pregnant and you offer to rip the baby out of her.’ Phil leaned forward. ‘And then what happens? She turns up dead. With the baby ripped out of her. Just like the other two who you claim you don’t know. And you lie to me about where you were on the night it happened. So, how am I doing so far, Ryan? How much more proof do you need?’

Brotherton put his head in his hands. His shoulders began to shake. He was crying. Phil saw his advantage, pressed on.

‘We’ve got you on CCTV outside Claire’s flat. We’ve got her phone records.’

He shook his head. ‘No . . . no . . .’

‘You killed her, Ryan, didn’t you? Just admit it, then we can start sorting it out.’

No reply, just crying.

‘You were out that night, weren’t you? The night Claire was killed.’

Brotherton said nothing.

‘I know you were. Sophie told us.’

‘Sophie . . .’ His voice was small and fragile, like a child who had been told there was no Father Christmas.

‘Yes, Sophie. She’s not going to lie for you any more, Ryan. So tell me the truth.You were out that night, weren’t you?’

Brotherton nodded. Breakthrough. Phil could barely sit in his seat, he was so excited. He swallowed down his rising excitement, controlled it, kept his voice steady, his breathing even, pressed on.

‘You went to her flat, didn’t you? You crept in and killed her.’

Phil waited. Here it comes, he thought. The confession. The climax he had been working for, building towards. Brotherton looked up, eyes shining, face wet.

‘Didn’t you, Ryan?’ Phil’s voice was gentle, coaxing. ‘You killed her.’

Brotherton shook his head. ‘No. I didn’t. I swear I didn’t . . .’

Phil studied him. Watched his eyes for deviation.

‘You killed Claire, Ryan. And Julie. Didn’t you?’

Brotherton shook his head once more.

‘Yes you did. Claire. And Julie. And Lisa. And Susie. You did. Didn’t you?’

‘No . . . no . . .’ Brotherton’s eyes slid down to the right.

‘Didn’t you . . .’

‘No . . .’

Phil sat back, exhausted. He had seen it. Marina’s voice in his ear just confirmed it.

‘Oh my God. He’s telling the truth, Phil. He didn’t do it.’

Then, just to emphasise the point, Brotherton started talking. ‘Yes, I was out. There’s this . . . this girl that I’ve been seeing . . . a young girl. I . . . I didn’t want Sophie to know . . .’

Phil stared at Brotherton until he could look at him no longer.

Marina was right. Brotherton was telling the truth.