Kate blew on the top of the coffee that Patel had left for her in the observation room; he was beginning to know her better than she knew herself. On the screen before her, Jackson was holding his face, both elbows pressed into the table, while the grey-haired solicitor next to him idly tapped his fountain pen against his own notepad.

Laura offered Jackson and his solicitor a hot drink, but the solicitor declined for both, muttering how his client was keen to get matters underway as quickly as possible. With the introductions made for the purposes of the recording, Patel kicked off by asking Jackson if he knew why he’d been arrested.

Jackson glanced nervously at his solicitor who gently nodded, a signal to do as instructed. ‘No comment,’ Jackson offered, though it was difficult to hear with his hand blocking his mouth.

‘Please speak loud and clear for the recording,’ Patel reminded him. ‘It’s here for your sake as much as ours.’

Jackson lowered his hand. ‘No comment.’

‘Does that mean you don’t know why you’ve been arrested?’

Another glance at the solicitor. ‘No comment.’

The solicitor leaned forward as Patel was opening his mouth to speak again. ‘I have recommended my client not to comment on any of your questions until you’ve disclosed what evidence you believe you have to connect him to these preposterous accusations.’

‘Is that what you want to do, Mr Jackson?’ Patel pressed, ignoring the solicitor.

Jackson flinched at the sound of his own name and began to nod, before remembering his instructions. ‘No comment.’

‘The thing is, Mr Jackson,’ Patel continued, ‘I need to ask you questions to establish whether you’re the man we believe murdered two innocent people. So, by not answering my questions, it makes it difficult for me to rule you out as a suspect. Do you understand?’

‘No comment,’ said more confidently this time.

‘Okay, for the purposes of clarity, you were arrested as we believe you are responsible for the murder of Petr Nowakowski and Maria Alexandrou. Do you understand what that means?’

‘No comment.’

Patel nodded, aware of how the next few minutes would progress. ‘Did you kill Petr Nowakowski and Maria Alexandrou?’

‘No comment.’

‘Did you know Petr Nowakowski and Maria Alexandrou?’

‘No comment.’

‘Had you met Petr Nowakowski or Maria Alexandrou?’

‘No comment.’

Kate continued to focus on the monitor. The main image was of Jackson and his solicitor, while a smaller view of Laura and Patel occupied the top corner of the screen. Kate was studying Jackson’s body language. She’d observed and undertaken more interviews in her career than she could ever recall, and no two had been the same. When dealing with suspects who had been interviewed or previously charged, the delivery of the ‘no comment’ was often with confidence or ennui, but with first-timers, more often than not, there was fear in their response. Jackson’s shudder every time Patel used his name was telling her a lot. He looked uncomfortable, but that didn’t necessarily confirm guilt or innocence, just that he wasn’t prepared to be interviewed today. Or, of course, it could all be an act; a cover story he’d concocted and was sticking to. She concentrated harder.

Patel made eye contact. ‘You sometimes work at St Bartholomew’s school on Hill Lane, don’t you?’

Jackson’s brow furrowed. ‘No comment.’

Kate leaned closer to the screen. Was that a clue? The mention of the school had clearly triggered something behind those dark eyes, but what?

‘We know you work there, Mr Jackson, because we have your van on their CCTV footage, and your name in the visitor’s book.’

‘No comment.’

‘Why won’t you comment about working at the school? That isn’t a crime.’

A glance at the solicitor. ‘No comment.’

‘You were called to the school last Thursday, weren’t you, Mr Jackson?’

‘No comment.’

‘Why were you called to the school, Mr Jackson?’

‘No comment.’

‘Was it to fix a photocopier?’

‘No comment.’

‘Tell me about your business, Mr Jackson; what do you do for a living?’

‘No comment.’

‘Does it pay well, being an engineer?’

‘No comment.’ Frustration was starting to kick in.

‘I’m pretty good with my hands,’ Patel mused. ‘I love doing a bit of DIY at the weekend. Are you good with your hands, Mr Jackson?’

‘No comment.’

‘I bet you are. I mean, you’d have to be to be an engineer, right?’

‘No comment.’ Delivered through gritted teeth.

Kate smiled to herself, pleased she’d chosen to send Patel in. She’d never known an officer as good at asking the same question a dozen different ways. The repetition and fast delivery could be a useful tool to upset the suspect’s rhythm, particularly when they desperately wanted to reply, but were remaining quiet under their solicitor’s instruction.

‘Did you always want to be an engineer?’

‘No comment.’

‘I imagine if we looked in the toolbox we recovered from the back of your van we’d find screwdrivers, wire cutters maybe, possibly a socket set.’

‘No comment.’

‘What about a power saw, Mr Jackson?’

The furrows in Jackson’s forehead sunk deeper. ‘No comment.’

‘Do you own a power saw, Mr Jackson?’

Jackson was now sitting further forward, growing increasingly worried. Was that a sign?

‘No comment.’

‘What else are we going to find in your toolbox?’

‘No comment.’

‘Blood?’

Jackson opened his mouth to reply, but the solicitor pressed an arm across him; a simple reminder to stick to the script.

‘No comment.’

‘Will we find Petr Nowakowski’s blood on any of your tools?’

‘No!’

‘Sorry, Mr Jackson, are you saying we won’t find any of Petr’s blood on your tools?’

He opened his mouth to speak again, before shaking his head, his lips trembling as he fought against the urge to say whatever he was holding back. ‘No comment.’

‘What about Maria Alexandrou’s blood?’

A shake of the head again. ‘No comment.’ Anger was becoming exasperation.

‘Because, Mr Jackson, the thing is, even if you’ve cleaned your tools, our forensics team are so good at finding the traces that are missed. So even if you think you’ve done a good job of cleaning them up, I wouldn’t count on it.’

Jackson rose from his chair and leaned in, ‘No comment!’

Both Patel and Laura instinctively sat back in response, playing up to the shock of his aggression. The solicitor tugged on Jackson’s arm, dragging him back to the seat.

Patel waited until Jackson had taken several breaths to calm himself before continuing. ‘Blood gets everywhere. It gets into the hinges and joints, particularly in scissors where the blades pivot. You think warm soapy water and a brush will be enough, but that doesn’t clean the microscopic traces unseen by the human eye. Those are the traces that help us nail killers. And sometimes that’s all it takes. Just a trace of Petr or Maria’s blood on your tools and we’ll have enough to press charges.’

‘I didn’t kill anyone!’ Jackson erupted, the first splash of a tear hitting his cheeks.

‘We believe you did, Mr Jackson. And the evidence we’re currently searching for in your house is going to confirm that. I know it was your solicitor’s idea not to answer any of our questions, but it won’t be your solicitor in the dock with a jury deciding his guilt. It’ll be you and you’ll be on your own to face their verdict. Hiding the truth now might seem like a good idea, but it really isn’t. The sooner you tell us the truth of what you did to Petr and Maria, the sooner we can all move on.’

‘I’m not a killer,’ he sobbed, burying his head in his hands.

The solicitor put the lid on his fountain pen and rested his pad on the table. ‘I think now would be an opportune moment to give my client a break, don’t you?’

Laura suspended the interview, leaving Kate to watch Jackson from the viewing suite, as he broke down into shuddering sobs beside his lawyer. She had to admit it was a convincing performance, but she’d seen better. Switching off the monitor, she headed to the incident room to discuss tactics for the second round of questioning, and to check in with Humberidge to see what progress they’d made at Jackson’s house.