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his face and he folded his arms tightly across his chest. ‘They weren’t interested in what I thought of her character, or anything else much. Apart from my being jealous, and stalking her, and all that shit.’

      ‘Well, I am. You went out together, what, was it three months?’

      ‘More or less.’

      ‘It’s enough time to get to know someone. What did you think of her?’

      Again a blank, taciturn look. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘What was she like, as a woman, I mean? Was she nice? Was she kind? Was she a warm and friendly type? Or was she selfish, just thinking of herself?’

      His face hardened. ‘You mean like most women?’

      She sighed. ‘OK. So from a man’s point of view, was she a flirt? Was she a tease? Or was she the sort of girl to sleep around? Was that the message that came across?’

      He stared at her sullenly. ‘She wasn’t a tart, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

      ‘Look, I’m sorry if you don’t like this, but it’s important.’ She decided she had to spell it out for him. ‘Traces of seminal fluid were found on her thigh. We know it didn’t come from you, so there had to be somebody else. Even though her body was in a pretty bad state when it was found the pathologist’s report said there were no signs of her having been raped, so we must assume the sex was consensual. What I’m really getting at is, was she choosy who she slept with, or was she an easy lay?’

      He looked down at the floor for a moment, rocking back and forth slowly in his chair, then he met her gaze. ‘She wasn’t easy. Took me several weeks to get her to go out with me, and more than that to get her into bed. I had to get her drunk. Tell you the truth, I’d almost given up on her.’

      She smiled, wanting to encourage him. ‘Thanks. That’s very helpful. So what did the two of you used to do together?’

      ‘We’d go to the gym, or to the Horse and Groom near where I live. Sometimes we’d go out for a meal, but during the week we mostly stayed in and watched TV. I used to have to cook for her, she couldn’t even boil an egg.’

      ‘Did she like going out?’

      He nodded.

      ‘Did she like expensive things and presents, or did she save her money?’

      ‘All women like that stuff, far as I know, and she weren’t no different. I took her to Bicester Village once, as a treat. I was going to buy her something nice, but before I had a chance, she’d blown eight hundred quid on a handbag and another couple of hundred on a pair of shoes. I kept my money in my wallet after that.’

      ‘Where did she get the money? Her salary at the racing yard couldn’t have been that much.’

      ‘Search me.’

      ‘I know it’s a long time ago, but do you recall how she paid for them?’

      He looked blank for a moment, then said, ‘Cash. I remember now. I thought she was stupid carrying so much in her bag.’

      ‘You weren’t curious where she got it from?’

      ‘I asked her. She said she won it on a horse.’

      ‘And you believed her?’

      He looked blank again, as though it was all too long ago.

      ‘Did she often have a lot of cash on her?’

      He sighed. ‘Don’t remember. It was usually me paying, not her.’ He rubbed his chin again, then added, ‘Maybe her dad give it her. I told you, he was rich, or so she said.’

      ‘Did you ever meet her parents?’

      He shook his head. ‘She told me she didn’t get on with them.’

      Eve looked at her watch. She had been there nearly an hour and it was time to go. There was nothing remarkable about Sean Farrell and nothing likeable either. The flickers of stubborn, macho cockiness were particularly off-putting. Maybe it was because she was a woman and that was his default response even after ten years in jail. But the members of a jury were only human and she imagined how he might have come across badly in court. She still had no idea whether he was innocent or guilty, but it didn’t matter for the moment. She merely had to go through the motions for Duran and she had managed to learn something new about Jane McNeil. What Farrell had said about Jane’s nosiness, and the cash that she had flashed around, offered up a new possible motive for her killing. But what intrigued her more than anything was why Duran had taken up Farrell’s cause in the first place. From the little she had seen of Farrell, and what she knew of Duran, she couldn’t imagine them getting along as people, chatting over a cup of tea and a biscuit, or fish and chips, in the prison canteen. Yet not only had Duran been inspired to donate money to the Farrell cause, he appeared to have embraced it wholeheartedly. For someone whose motives had previously been entirely selfish, it was out of character. There had to be something more and she was determined to find out what it was.

      TEN

      It was past five in the afternoon and already dark when Dan finally stood outside the house in Kilburn where Mickey Fraser was apparently now living. He and Zofia had started by driving to a house in Tooting, which they had on file as Mickey’s home address. But Mickey hadn’t been there for almost a year. It seemed that he moved flats every few months and they had driven from Tooting, to Clapham, to Cricklewood, asking for Mickey at every one, and had finally been sent to 20b Acacia Grove, Kilburn. This had taken up most of the day. The Kilburn address at least seemed promising; a woman at the Cricklewood house said that Mickey had called her only a few weeks before about forwarding some post to him there. Dan had insisted on Zofia going back to the office after that. He felt angry and disappointed in Mickey and he wanted to speak to him on his own. Mickey had been tasked with tracing Jane McNeil’s former housemates, Grace Byrne and Holly Crowther, as well as following up on the dead racing journalist, Kevin Stevens. He couldn’t wait for Mickey to decide to resurface in his own time; he needed to find out how far Mickey had got, particularly with Eve now on his back.

      Mickey’s house was halfway along a terrace of tall, Edwardian red-bricks, most of which had been converted into flats with the front door up a steep flight of stairs. He pulled out his phone, switched on the torch and shone it over the dirty line of bells. A small, grubby card pinned to the top stated that flat B was in the basement. He went back down to the garden and found a short, narrow flight of stairs leading below, hidden behind a line of overflowing communal bins. Although basements were cheap and private – two reasons why they might appeal to Mickey – like a scurrying creature of the dark, it was appropriate that he would live in such a hellhole. He put his hand over his mouth, trying to block out the stench, as he carefully made his way down the slippery steps. The curtains were drawn, no light on inside, but that meant nothing. Mickey was probably sleeping off one of his periodic binges. It was dark at the bottom and it smelled even worse. The front door was tucked away deep under the stairs, in shadow from the streetlight above. Using his phone torch, he found the bell. He rehearsed in his mind what he was going to say if Mickey appeared and pressed it long and hard. He heard the buzz inside, but nobody came to the door. Music and voices drifted down from one of the flats above, but although he waited a good minute or so, no sign of life came from Mickey’s flat. Just so that he could tell Zofia that he had made sure, he thumped his fist loudly on the door, calling out Mickey’s name. He felt the door give a little under the weight of his hand and, in the pale wash of light from his phone saw that it had opened a crack. It seemed to be unlocked. He put his shoulder against it and shoved and this time it swung open, banging loudly against the wall behind. If Mickey was at home, he must have heard.

      Dan reached inside the doorjamb and fumbled until he found a light switch. He flipped it down, but no light came on. Tentatively, he shone his phone inside and saw a little bathroom to the left, under the stairs. Fumbling in the dark he found the light cord and pulled it, but that didn’t appear to be working either. To the right was another door. As he pushed

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