It was time for Sant to play the trump card. ‘What about Oliver Mosley?’
‘Who?’ Jake answered without hesitation, no flicker of recognition crossing his face.
‘Also known as Owen Madeley? A friend of Chloe’s – a very close friend.’
He shook his head but did not answer, a whiff of nerves troubling his manner all of a sudden. It was textbook tension, thought Sant. Straight out of Capstick’s beloved books on body language.
‘Come on, Mr Downing! Surely you keep up with the gossip; with who screws who after you’ve bolted the stable?’
‘There you go again, Inspector. Don’t imagine for one second you can abuse me and then expect me to roll over. If I need to call on the services of my solicitor – a proper solicitor, not one of your police pawns – I’m only too ready to. Our conversation, if th
