The two officers opened the door to the interview room, entered and sat across the battered Formica-topped table from Todd Greenwood, her prime suspect.

After the formalities of a caution, Alice let Kev lead the questioning. The big DS flipped open a folder and looked Greenwood in the eyes.

“Do you understand why you’re here?” Kev began.

“Tell me,” he responded, “I like to have things clear for the record.”

“At this stage you are not charged with any crime,” Kev said, “you’re helping us with our inquiries.”

“I don’t want to help you,” Greenwood said, “can I go?”

Alice leaned forward and said, “No, mister Greenwood, you may not. Because if you persist, I will arrest you and charge you with suspicion of a crime.”

“What crime would that be?” Anthony Belcher, the duty solicitor intervened.

“We are conducting a murder enquiry,” Alice said levelly.

“I haven’t done no murder,” Greenwood said through gritted teeth, “I was home with my wife, all cosy like.”

“You were seen leaving your home at one a.m. on the night of the sixth of March, and again on the fourth of April. On both those nights crimes were committed,” said Kev, “can you explain your movements?”

“I needed to go out to clear my head,” Greenwood insisted, “I was only out five minutes. You can check my phone; it’ll tell you where I was.”

“Following that information, we sought a warrant to check your internet activity,” Kev went on, “and your report reveals you have been using a well-known mapping website to look at the areas in which crimes were committed.”

“Doesn’t prove anything,” said Greenwood, “I’m just looking at properties … fancy a move to a nicer area.”

“Bit of a coincidence though, Todd,” interjected Alice, “there have been three murders in two months and on each occasion your search history shows you’ve been looking at the area where the murders were committed.”

“Is that all you’ve got, Inspector,” said the duty solicitor, “because if it is, then we’re done here. You can either charge Mister Greenwood, or let him go.”

“It’s not quite everything,” said Alice, “you mentioned your phone, naturally we checked, and it appears that yes, the phone in question was at your home address when the crimes were being committed …”

She paused and drew breath, “But here’s the thing. It wasn’t the only phone at your premises. There was also your wife’s phone, of course, but there was a third signal that arrived at one fifteen in the morning and left at three twenty-five. That phone belongs to Colin Greenwood, your younger brother.”

“That little bastard,” Greenwood said, jumping to his feet, “I knew he was poking the missus when I was out …”

He stopped in mid flow and looked at the solicitor, who by now had his head in hands.

“Todd Phillip Greenwood,” said Alice with a smile, “I am arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Iona Treen, Patty Williams and Lorrie Jones. You do not have to say anything, but anything…”

Jane and Colin Greenwood did not attend the trial. They were too busy setting up home in Cardiff where they hoped they would live happily ever after, and they did, at least until Todd escaped. They found him sitting in a pool of blood, a large carving knife in his hand, singing, “Daddy’s home” to the two shredded bodies lying on the kitchen floor.