TWO DAYS LATER AND Rafferty’s nagging doubts about Ian Sutherland’s guilt had intensified. The man’s demeanour was all wrong somehow, for a p*******e. And then there was the knife. How would he have concealed a knife with an 8-inch blade in his stag night suit? The handle would have roughly doubled the length of the weapon—surely it would have fallen out of an inside pocket at some point during that drunken stag night? The route Ian and his friends had taken from the pub to the Scorpio club had been thoroughly searched, as had the pub and the club. Bradley was insistent that Ian must have given it to one of his group of friends who commuted to London daily for work, but this didn’t strike him as likely. None of Sutherland’s friends seemed the type to condone murder, let alone allow themsel
