She turned away from the window, arched her aching back and walked slowly back to her desk, leaving Devon still staring down at the street. They had questioned George Dolan for hours the previous day and, technically, having applied for the full ninety-six hours permitted to hold someone suspected of a serious crime without charge, they still had until the following evening before they’d need to charge or release him. During the entire time they’d been in the interview room, Dolan had continued to sneer and belittle the dead men, while still giving no real reason for killing them other than that he ‘didn’t like the look of them’ and ‘they were a fucking type; poncy looking wastes of space’. His words and attitude towards his alleged victims had chilled and disgusted them both; at one point, Helena had had to ask for a break, rushing to the toilets down the corridor feeling physically sick.
‘How can there be people in the world like him?’ she’d hissed at Devon, who had followed her out, concerned.
‘He doesn’t seem to care at all that these men are dead, that their families are distraught. He’s laughing about it. What’s wrong with him? Jesus …’
Devon had nodded, face tight, mouth set in a grim line.
‘I know. He’s scum, pure and simple.’
Earlier, when Dolan had requested his own comfort break, Frankie had popped his head into the interview room. He’d been watching proceedings from the viewing room, along with some of the others.
‘Sick, sick bastard,’ he said. ‘You’re doing a great job. Well done, both of you.’
Helena had nodded, suddenly unable to speak, a lump forming in her throat. But after the initial thrill of Dolan’s confession, it hadn’t been long before the doubts had begun to creep in. She’d felt the first niggle when they’d started to drill down into each murder separately, deciding not to begin with the earlier, London killings they were less familiar with but with that of Mervin Elliott, the man found dead on Clifton Down in February.
‘Fucking smarmy bastard. Worked in a poncy clothes shop, probably only because he liked touching up all the poor fuckers who came in to try the gear on,’ Dolan had spat. ‘I followed him up to The Downs and gave him a good kicking.’
‘A good kicking? Could you elaborate, Mr Dolan? How exactly did you kill Mervin Elliott?’
Dolan had stared back at her, a pale pink tongue snaking between his lips and moving slowly across them. Helena’s stomach had rolled, but she’d forced herself to keep her eyes on his.
‘Battered him. A few kicks, a few good hard punches. Didn’t take long,’ Dolan said, then leaned back in his chair, which creaked ominously.
Helena felt Devon’s elbow press ever so gently against hers, and she nudged him back. Mervin Elliott had died from a blow to the head, and no other significant injuries had been found on his body. Battered? A few kicks, a few good hard punches? That didn’t tally, and a little knot began to form somewhere deep within Helena’s chest.
‘OK, let’s move on to Ryan Jones, whose body was found on the morning of the twenty-eighth of February. You claim you also killed him, Mr Dolan. Can you tell me how you did that?’
‘Same way,’ he said immediately, and with satisfaction. ‘Good battering. Kicked his ass into the middle of next week. Nice quiet lane that was, nobody to disturb me. Took my time. Enjoyed every minute.’
He leaned his bulk back heavily once again, and the chair creaked loudly in protest. And so it had continued. When they’d asked him about Danny O’Connor, he’d told them he too had died after a ‘good beating’ and had simply shrugged when asked where the man’s body was.
‘You’ll find it. Eventually,’ he said, with a sly grin.
After two hours, they had taken a break. Helena and Devon had walked quickly and in silence down the corridor away from the interview room. When they reached an empty conference room at the far end, Helena marched in, Devon following and closing the door behind them.
‘You’re clearly thinking what I’m thinking,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘He’s a bloody fantasist, isn’t he? He’s told us absolutely nothing that’s not been in the public domain for weeks, and when we do ask for more detail he’s getting it wrong. The way he claims he killed them – it’s just not what the post-mortems showed. Those two murders on The Downs, for example, were quick and clean. He’s describing frenzied attacks, beatings.