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‘If this wasn’t the gift you intended to give, Mr Hodgkiss, where’s the one you did intend to give?’ Flynn asked. Her tone was more moderate, more measured. Kinder. Just like they’d discussed before they went in. Good cop/bad cop was clichéd but occasionally useful.

‘I-I-I don’t know,’ he replied. His brow furrowed. ‘Actually, where is my mug? It still has Barbara’s engagement ring inside.’

‘The one you stole?’ Poe said.

Hodgkiss nodded then realised what he’d done. ‘It was the only way I could afford a nice one.’

Flynn clicked on a different file on the laptop. This time she showed Hodgkiss some CSI photographs. The first was of the paper the #BSC6 mug had been wrapped in, the four sheets of A4 with the bird design.

‘Did you use bird pictures to wrap Barbara’s mug?’ Flynn asked.

It was an important question and one that had been missed so far. If Hodgkiss had used the same design, then he’d been selected. And, as most mugs came in the same size polystyrene protective boxes, if the killer had known what paper Hodgkiss was going to use, he could have swapped it anywhere and used him as an unwitting mule. He wouldn’t have had to go anywhere near the John Bull Haulage office.

But, if he hadn’t used the same bird design, then the killer would have had to risk entering the John Bull Haulage office in Carlisle. He’d selected Hodgkiss’s mug at random, copied Barbara’s name onto his own label, left his mug under the tree, and left with Hodgkiss’s original.

Hodgkiss shook his head. ‘That’s not my paper.’

‘You’re sure?’ Flynn said.

He nodded. ‘Absolutely. My wrapping paper was from Celebrations on Bank Street. It had snowmen on it.’

So … the killer had been in all three crime scenes.

Chapter 8

Poe and Flynn arranged to meet Barbara Willoughby at her home. She lived in a flat in the centre of Carlisle. Tiffany would join them. Barbara answered the door in her pyjamas, a dressing gown and fluffy slippers. She wore no makeup and her hair was wet and slicked back.

Tiffany arrived shortly after. The two women hugged each other. They’d only worked together for a few months, but they’d been best friends since school.

‘Tough times,’ Poe said when they were seated.

‘Tougher for him,’ Tiffany said.

Poe nodded. ‘No doubt.’

‘Have you spoken to him?’

‘We have.’

‘How’s he doing?’ Barbara asked.

Tiffany said, ‘You’re kidding?’

‘I don’t wish him harm, Tiff. He’s a shallow, shallow man, and his life was shit enough before all of this. I don’t want to come to work one day to find out he’s hanged himself.’

‘Wouldn’t bother me one fuck—’

‘He’ll survive,’ Flynn cut in. ‘The public order offence has been dropped and, unless you do actually report the theft of your grandmother’s ring, his part in this is over.’

‘The jeweller melted it down apparently,’ Barbara said. ‘I’m not pressing charges.’

‘He did tell us the parcel you opened didn’t have the same wrapping paper as he’d used though,’ Flynn said. ‘That means that your Secret Santa gift was probably selected at random. Whoever did this must have broken into your office and swapped Craig’s mug for his own.’

Barbara shook her head. ‘If I didn’t have bad luck I’d have no luck at all.’

Tiffany frowned. ‘I doubt he broke in. The industrial estate has some high-value warehouses and businesses, and security is tight during the night. Dogs, mobile and static guards, the works. I know because we pay a percentage of their fees and I do their invoices.’

Barbara nodded. ‘She’s right.’