2013

Like a kestrel hovering over its prey, Jim Monahan studied the man on the other side of the interview room's one-way window. He took in the salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed across a bald spot, the brown eyes peering through puffy pouches of skin, the slightly baggy cheeks, the lips set in an impassive line. Thomas Villiers was leaning back in his chair, hands folded together in his lap. He was meticulously dressed in what appeared to be the same solemn navy blue suit and matching tie as on the previous two occasions he'd attended the station. The bastard wore his clothes in the same way he wore his respectability – like a suit of armour. He looked relaxed and confident. But appearances could be deceptive. Those bags under Villiers' eyes were new. He hadn't been sleeping. Or he'd been drinking too much. Or perhaps a bit of both. Whatever the cause, they hinted at an inner tension.

'He looks tired,' noted Reece Geary.

Jim glanced at his colleague. There were dark smudges under Reece's eyes too. His broad angular face had a washed-out look. 'So do you.'

'I'm fine. Come on, let's do it. I've got a good feeling about this one. I reckon he could be our ticket in.'

Jim's gaze returned doubtfully to Thomas Villiers. Maybe he was their ticket in. But not today. Today they had the same on Villiers as they'd had when they first interviewed him almost a year ago – the same being fuck all. This interview wasn't about trying to lever or trick information out of Villiers, its purpose was more simple – it was a reminder, a message that said loud and clear, We haven't forgotten you, we're not going away, we're going to keep after you for as long as it takes. Villiers turned with an impatient frown to the pudgy, bespectacled man sitting at his side. Miles Burnham made a calming motion and whispered something to his client. Burnham was one of the most experienced solicitors in the game. He was fully aware of every police tactic in the book. Jim didn't need to hear his words to have a good idea of what he was saying. Relax, Thomas, they're just making you wait, it's what they do when they've got nothing to come at you with. The lines faded from Villiers' forehead. He even managed a smile.

'I can't stand that fucking bloke,' said Reece, eyeballing the solicitor.

'Don't ever let him know that,' warned Jim. 'He'll use it against you every chance he gets.' He glanced at his watch. Villiers had been waiting almost an hour. Normally he would have given him a while longer to stew, but with Burnham in there that could do more harm than good.

Jim entered the interview room and seated himself at the opposite side of a table from Villiers and the solicitor. He pointedly opened the file he'd compiled on Villiers, while Reece turned on the recording equipment. Reece inserted three blank tapes into the machine – a working copy for themselves, a master copy, and a copy for Burnham if his client was charged. Jim glanced at his watch again and began in a slow, deliberate voice, 'The time is four fifteen p.m., on Friday the fourteenth of June, 2013. This interview is taking place at South Yorkshire Police Headquarters. Those present are Detective Chief Inspector Jim Monahan, Detective Inspector Reece Geary, Mr Thomas Villiers and his solicitor, Mr Miles Burnham.' Jim looked at Villiers for the first time, keeping his expression studiedly impersonal. 'OK, Mr Villiers, I now need to caution you.' He read him the standard caution and asked if he understood.

'Yes,' replied Villiers, his