Erika arrived at Lewisham Row police station just after 8 a.m. The construction work around the centre of Lewisham, which had started when Erika was first assigned to South London, was almost complete. Several high-rise blocks of luxury apartments now dwarfed the eight-storey police station. The cranes were still on the snowy morning, and on one there was a Christmas tree, lit up.

It had been a sleepless night. The images of Joseph had haunted her dreams. In the photos, he appeared to be a victim, but she needed to question him about his role in Marissa Lewis’s murder, and there was still so much information she didn’t have: post-mortem results; DNA; the murder weapon hadn’t been found. Erika felt uncomfortable about it, but the photos of Joseph could be used as leverage.

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At 9 a.m., Joseph was brought into Interview Room 1 by two uniformed officers. He wasn’t cuffed. He looked pale, and had dark circles under his eyes. A bleary-eyed solicitor in an expensive pinstripe suit filed in with him. He didn’t seem happy that he’d been called in to work on Boxing Day. He introduced himself as Henry Chevalier, and sat next to Joseph.

Erika sat on the opposite side of the table with an equally tired-looking McGorry, who Joseph eyeballed with hatred.

‘It’s 9.04 a.m. on December 26th, 2017,’ said Erika. ‘Present for the interview is DCI Erika Foster, DI John McGorry, Joseph Pitkin and his legal representation, Henry Chevalier.’

Henry leaned over and whispered something in Joseph’s ear. He didn’t react, but nodded. Erika opened one of the grey cardboard files she had stacked on the table and took out hard copies of the photos which had been developed from the roll of film.

‘Joseph. Can you tell me if you took these photos?’ She spread them out across the table. For a split second, Joseph’s eyes registered shock, then he sat back and folded his arms.

‘My client has chosen not to answer this,’ said Henry.

Erika went on, ‘This is from a roll of undeveloped film in a small plastic tube we found in the alleyway behind your parents’ garden. I believe it fell out of your pocket when you climbed over the wall.’ Joseph crunched up his face in a scowl. ‘We lifted prints from it. A thumb and forefinger, and they match yours. I’ll ask you again. Did you take these photos?’

Joseph looked at Henry, who nodded.

‘Yeah, I took them.’

‘Photos of a dead body,’ said Erika.

‘We can see the photos,’ said Henry. Erika picked up one, a close-up of Marissa’s blood-spattered face, her eyes wide. Frozen with fear.

‘This photo is taken from high up, in the tree opposite Marissa’s house.’ Erika held it up to Joseph and he looked away. ‘You’ll see her skirt is down over her thighs.’ She picked up another. ‘But in this photo, taken up close, her dress has been lifted to expose her underwear. Did you touch the body, Joseph?’ He shook his head. ‘We’ve also recovered videos from your mobile phone, which show you had quite an unhealthy obsession with Marissa Lewis. You filmed her covertly when she was in her bedroom, and on one occasion when she had sex with another man.’

Joseph was now shaking, and his face had drained of blood.

‘I didn’t kill her.’

‘What did you do, then?’ asked McGorry, sitting back and folding his arms. ‘Have a fiddle with her as she lay dead? You took the opportunity to dip your fingers into her knickers when she wasn’t able to object?’

‘Officers, I would appreciate a more respectful line of questioning,’ said Henry.

Erika gathered up the photos and put them away. She opened another cardboard file. ‘I have your PNC record. You served six weeks in a youth detention centre when you were fourteen. You attacked a boy at school with a broken bottle. The surgeon managed to save his eye.’

Erika held up the photo of a young, dark-haired boy from the file. An ugly purple line of stitches ran from his left eyebrow and across his eyelid.

‘I was defending myself. He hit me,’ said Joseph.

‘Then why not hit him back? Instead, you smashed a glass bottle and ground it into his face. Bit of a psycho thing to do,’ said McGorry.

‘Can I ask if you are planning to charge my client?’ said Henry. ‘And if so, what are you planning to charge him with? He served his time for what he did. He also has an alibi for the time when Marissa Lewis was killed.’

‘From his mum and dad,’ said Erika.

‘My client’s father is a former Queen’s Counsel with an impeccable reputation. He states that Joseph was at home all night and didn’t leave the house until the next morning.’

‘Do they all sleep in the same bedroom?’

‘That’s a ridiculous question.’

‘Is it? The murder scene was less than two minutes from Joseph’s house. He’s already shown that he likes to hop over the back wall. He could have made it there and back in a very short space of time.’

‘Could being the operative word. Detectives, do you have any concrete evidence?’

‘We have taken DNA samples from the victim’s body. I also have officers searching the Pitkin house. It’s just a matter of time,’ said Erika.

‘Yes, eleven hours and counting.’

‘I have the right to extend custody for another two days.’

‘I would advise against that,’ said Henry softly, with a steely sense of finality. His eyes bore down at her from across the table.

‘Is that a threat?’

‘Of course not,’ he said, with a fake smile. ‘Do you think I would threaten you, in a room full of cameras, where a transcript of our conversation is being recorded? Are you, DCI Foster, feeling paranoid?’

‘No. It’s probably just caffeine withdrawal.’ She smiled.

‘Our coffee machine is on the blink,’ said McGorry. ‘Whatever button you press, oxtail soup comes out.’

Henry rolled his eyes. ‘How is this relevant?’

They ignored him. McGorry looked at Erika. She pulled the third and final cardboard folder from the pile, and took out the photos of Joseph, naked and strapped to the table, and a still image from the video file. She lay them out on the table and they both sat back.

They weren’t prepared for the reaction. What little colour Joseph had left drained from his face, and his hands started to shake uncontrollably.

‘Hang on. Why weren’t these photos disclosed to me?’ said Henry.

‘We recovered these photos and an explicit video file from your mobile phone, Joseph,’ said Erika. ‘Who is the person who did this to you? Did he send you the files?’

Joseph shook his head and stood up, his chair crashing back onto the floor. He vomited spectacularly across the table. Erika just managed to pull two of the folders out of the way, and they all leapt back.

‘Christ!’ shouted Henry, recoiling at the pile of saturated paperwork he held, before dropping it onto the floor.

Joseph stood very still, and hunched forward, a long line of drool hanging from his mouth. They all stood in shocked silence. Suddenly, he lunged at Erika, screaming with bared teeth.

‘You fucking bitch!’ he spat as McGorry held him back, pinning his arms to his sides. ‘Where did you get them? How? How did you get them? He’s nothing to do with this! NOTHING! He’ll kill me!’

‘Who? Who will kill you?’ said Erika, pivoting out of the way as Joseph kicked out at her. ‘We need some help in here!’ she shouted, turning to the camera mounted in the corner of the interview room. Seconds later, two uniformed officers came rushing in, and they helped to pull Joseph towards the door. ‘Who? Who will kill you? Give me his name and all this will be over.’ Joseph was dragged out of the interview room, kicking and shouting. ‘Give me his name, I can protect you!’ The door slammed.

‘Boss,’ said McGorry, putting a hand on her arm. ‘The interview’s over.’

Erika looked at McGorry and the solicitor, and the mess across the table, and she came back to her senses.

‘Yes.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Henry, picking up his bag from the corner of the room, and seeing where he’d been caught with vomit on the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Jesus fucking Christ!’ And he left. Erika and McGorry stood in shock.

‘We know one thing for sure. He had a big Christmas lunch,’ said McGorry, wrinkling his nose.