Leighton Matthews was sitting in one of the station’s interview rooms, looking as though he would rather have been anywhere else. It was an expression most people wore in this room, including the officers and the duty solicitors who attended. The only people Alex had ever seen show enthusiasm for the place were the ones who’d reoffended in the hope of making it back inside, usually before Christmas, where they’d be guaranteed heating and a two-course dinner. It was a sad truth, but such incidents were on the rise and the same faces were becoming increasingly familiar.

‘We’ve spoken to the garage,’ she told him. ‘They’ve had to fix a bit of a dent to the front bumper, apparently.’

She studied the man, waiting for a response. Matthews kept his head lowered, eyes fixed to the table, trying to hide any reaction. He pressed his long fingers to his temples. Alex gave Chloe a sideways glance. Her colleague was usually quite perceptive when it came to body language, and she wondered what she might be reading into this.

‘Did you ever have any contact with Keira North?’

Matthews looked up at the mention of the young woman’s name. ‘No.’

‘OK.’ Alex opened the file on the desk in front of her and removed copies of some of the messages Dan had retrieved from Keira’s laptop and email account. ‘This demonstrates that she had contact with you, at least. April the fourth,’ she said, checking the date the message had been sent. ‘Keira sent you an email about one of Leah’s essays. Ring any bells yet?’

Matthews pushed a hand through his dark hair and shifted in his seat. ‘No.’

‘Did you reply to the email?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘Maybe. I get lots of emails, from lots of students. I can’t be expected to remember them all.’

‘Dear Mr Matthews,’ Alex read. ‘You teach my friend and housemate, Leah Cross. She told me last night that she has missed the deadline on a piece of coursework and that the department won’t accept a late submission. A draft of the work in question – an essay on post-modern American fiction – was delivered a week before the deadline: I know this because I dropped it into your office myself, as Leah was unwell. You weren’t there at the time, so I left it on your desk. I saw one of the other members of staff – she said it was fine to leave it there. Please allow Leah to submit the essay – she is very upset about the impact this might have on her end-of-year result, and if it was anyone’s fault the work didn’t end up with you then it’s mine. Thank you. Keira North.’

She put the page on the desk in front of her and looked at Matthews expectantly. He looked back, his expression having morphed from concern to exasperation.

‘I don’t understand this,’ he said. ‘You’ve brought me in here to question me about an email?’

‘No. We’ve brought you in here to question you about a murder. And possibly an attempted murder too. No one drives their car at someone without intending them harm.’

‘You’re suggesting I went to a student house party and pushed a girl off a roof?’ he said. ‘Everyone knows what happened to Keira, and it’s tragic. But this is ridiculous. If I’d been at that party, plenty of people would have seen me. I’d have looked a bit out of place, don’t you think? And what the hell would I have been doing there in the first place?’

Chloe raised an eyebrow. ‘You tell us.’

The unspoken insinuation rested in the air between them, silencing the room for a moment.

‘And Wednesday night?’ Alex said. ‘What about then? We have an ID of a vehicle that closely matches yours, along with the fact that you conveniently happened to take your car to a garage the following morning, and that visit just happened to involve a full clean and valet. There was no mention of any engine failure, by the way. They told us they fixed a dent on the bumper. What’s your excuse for that?’

‘I did that ages ago,’ Matthews said, holding her gaze.

‘Where?’

He hesitated. ‘I don’t remember – it was quite a while back.’

‘Convenient.’

‘It was a narrow lane,’ he said, ‘I remember now. I swerved to avoid a sheep.’

‘Of course you did,’ Chloe said. ‘And were there flying pigs around this lane at the same time?’

‘Do you have evidence of any of these accusations?’ Matthews asked, ignoring Chloe and returning his focus to Alex.

They didn’t, not yet, but Alex wasn’t about to tell him that. What they needed was something concrete, something that would place Leighton Matthews at the scene of the hit-and-run. By having the car cleaned, the clever bastard had managed to erase any trace of Leah’s blood or fibres from her clothing that they might have been able to retrieve from his vehicle.

Matthews looked from Alex to Chloe and back again. ‘I’m not involved in any of this,’ he said. ‘I’d like to speak to my solicitor.’

Alex pushed her chair back and stood. ‘Fine. Though if you’re not involved, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about, should you?’