As you can see, I've been on a major push on the writing front this weekend! We're not too far from the end now... x

"I've just been informed," Boyd said, closing the door of the room firmly behind him before turning his dark eyes to Barry Peterson, "that your DNA has been found with the remains of Mary Hammersmith, Mr Peterson..."

The blood drained suddenly from Peterson's ruddy face as he took in Boyd's words, their reality turning his skin a sickly shade of grey, and he gave a shuddering sigh that permeated his entire body, his head slumping forwards. "Oh my God..." He whispered shakily, his breath rasping in his chest.

"So now would be a very good time for you to pull your head out of the sand and start telling me exactly what happened that day in 1964."

"I can't...I...I never knew for sure."

Boyd sighed loudly. "Look, Mr Peterson, I don't think you killed Mary Hammersmith, not anymore. But I think you know that your son did..."

"I don't know that! Nothing was clear that day, it was all such a mess!"

Boyd took a seat at the table and leant forward in his chair. "This is Susan's sister we're talking about here, remember. Her twin sister. Don't you think Susan deserves to know the truth about what happened to her?" His voice was soft, despite the pounding of blood in his ears, the adrenaline surging through his body.

"Good, that's good, Boyd." Grace mumbled into his earpiece. "Keep it at this level, don't raise your voice."

"I...she..." Peterson eyes flickered anxiously between Boyd and Tressell, confusion lacing his expression, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his defences began to crumble.

"Your son brutally attacked her, Mr Peterson." Boyd's voice was almost a whisper, intensity lacing every word. "He beat her so violently round the head that she lost her memory. I imagine she was nearly dead when you found her, is that right? If you hadn't have got there in time..."

Peterson gave a strangled sob, years of repressed memory exploding suddenly through his mind, and he took several shaky breaths before speaking again. "Oh, God...There was so much blood, so much blood..." He murmured.

"Tell me what happened." Boyd said quietly.

"Superintendent, I really think my client needs a break, the stress he's under at the moment, it's..." Tressell began, a nervous frown marring his forehead.

"No." Peterson interrupted, turning slightly to face his solicitor, his tone expressionless, flat. "I need to say this, I've hidden it for forty years. From myself, from everybody."

"Go on, Mr Peterson." Boyd said encouragingly as Tressell held up his palms in defeat.

"I... was inside the house..." He said softly, his eyes beginning to glaze as his memory took over. "Matthew came running in, covered in blood...said something had happened to two little girls on the Common."

Boyd took a breath to speak but Peterson continued. "When I got there, I saw the devil's glint in his eyes and I knew...I knew..." He broke off to clear his throat, his voice beginning to crack under the strain of his words. "It was too late for Mary. But Susan...Susan was breathing..."

"You took Mary Hammersmith's body and buried her in the garden of Twelve Primrose Avenue. Why? Why did you move her, why not call the Police?"

"Because...because I felt so guilty. Because I knew I'd made Matthew what he was. I couldn't bear the thought of him going to prison."

"So you moved the body."

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Why did you bury her in the garden? If you were so intent on burying her, why not do it where she was lying?"

"I don't know, I just...I thought if the Police were looking for her , they might dig on the Common. The garden seemed...safer somehow and...more respectful. Plus they'd just had new turf laid so it was easy to cover her up." He broke off, sighing deeply. "I don't know, Boyd, I wasn't exactly thinking straight at the time."

Boyd let the silence in the room elongate a moment longer before speaking again. "And Susan? What did you think about her?"

Peterson's face contorted with pain at the mention of his wife, his dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I didn't know what to do. She was...she had this huge gash in the back of her head and the blood...oh, God..."

"What did you do?" Boyd asked, willing his voice to remain even.

"I ran to the house and fetched water and I...I found a first aid kit, cleaned her up and bandaged her head. Then I poured water on the ground to wash the blood away."

"And what was Matthew doing while all this was going on?"

"He was just standing there...watching what I was doing...his eyes...his eyes...I've never seen a child with eyes like that, he was so cold, so intensely cold."

"What happened next, Mr Peterson?"

"I...bundled them into the car and drove...and kept driving...I needed to think, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do."

"You ended up in Birmingham."

He nodded. "I rented a house...kept Susan inside while I nursed her back to health."

"And Matthew?"

"We never spoke about it again. When Susan started to get better, I told her I'd found her on the streets, that I'd brought her to live with me. I said it so often, I even started to believe it myself, started to convince myself that none of it had really happened, that the three of us were just a normal family."

"How did Matthew react to that?"

"He was okay, to start with. I don't think he even remembered what he'd done to the girls, it was like it was all some game to him." He shook his head sadly. "When Susan and I became lovers, when she was sixteen, that's when he started trying to attack her."

"How did that happen, Mr Peterson, that transition from being your prisoner to being your lover?" Boyd couldn't keep the edge from his voice as he spoke.

"She was never my prisoner! What I told you before about rescuing her, that was partially true. If I hadn't have brought her with me, she'd have died."

"You took advantage of her fragile state to satisfy your own needs."

"Boyd." The sharpness of Grace's voice was an instant rebuke and he took a deep, cleansing breath, pushing his anger to the depths of his stomach.

Peterson sighed. "It wasn't like that. We fell in love. It does happen, Superintendent."

"Well, whatever, did you never think that your actions with Susan might de-stabilise Matthew again? That by sleeping with her you might be putting her in danger from him?"

"I thought...I stupidly thought he was over all that. He seemed happier, more settled. I didn't know he was evil to the core until he started making attempts on Susan's life."

Boyd was quiet for a moment before phrasing his next question,a dark nuance to his voice. "Is there anything else you want to tell me in this happy story, Mr Peterson, before I have you charged with false imprisonment and perverting the course of justice?"

Peterson closed his eyes, anxiety passing like a shadow over his face. "No." He said finally, his voice barely audible in the silent expanse of the room. "Nothing else."

"In that case, I'll get the Custody Sergeant to..."

"Can you come out here, Boyd?" There was a slight strain to Grace's usually tranquil voice and he frowned at her tone, worry prickling at the edges of his stomach. "Mel needs to speak to you."

He turned to Peterson and Tressell. "The Custody Sergeant will be along shortly." He said curtly, rising from his chair and moving to walk from the room, forcing his expression to remain neutral as he noticed Peterson's body begin to shake, bitter tears falling in silent rivers down his face. You deserve everything you get, you twisted bastard...

"What is it?" He asked as he closed the interview room door with a loud bang, his eyes flickering from Grace to Mel, marking the tension in their body language, the stress in their expressions. "What's going on?"

"We just got a call from uniform." Mel said, her voice steady. "They're dealing with a...situation at Twelve Primrose Avenue in Kensington."

Boyd felt his heart begin to pick up pace, thundering in his chest. "What kind of situation, Mel?"

"An unknown male, approximately fifty years old, broke into their garden with a female hostage..."

"Matthew Edwards and Susan Peterson?"

"It's a fair assumption." Grace said, nodding.

"Is he armed, Mel?" Boyd asked, dread filling his chest in anticipation of her answer.

"Yeah. Machete-type knife is what they're saying." She took a breath. "And, Boyd, he's not worried about using it; he stabbed Laura Turner's daughter in the leg when she tried to intervene."

"Oh, Jesus." He breathed, running a hand through his hair as he tried desperately to think.

"I've called Armed Response, there's a Unit on its way there now and there should be an ambulance on the scene already, uniform saw to that."

"Good, let's go."

He practically ran the length of the corridor, willing his legs to move faster, barking Spence's name as he rounded the corner to the meeting room, Grace and Mel following in quick succession behind him.

They moved quickly into the car park, Spence and Mel taking the back seat, as was their custom, Grace placing her hand on the passenger door handle before Boyd's voice halted her actions.

"What are you doing?" He asked, as if suddenly aware of her presence across the breadth of the vehicle.

She frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You're not coming, Grace." He said firmly. "It's absolutely out of the question."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's an incredibly dangerous, volatile situation, there's no telling what he might do..."

"All the more reason I should be there, Boyd. I've had training in hostage negotiation, I might be able to talk to him."

"No, Grace. Go back inside."

She caught the undercurrent of his words and the expression in his eyes but she shook her head resolutely. "We're wasting time. We need to go."

"Grace, I won't ask you again."

"You're not responsible for me, Boyd, all right? It's my decision whether or I not I come with you and I'm making it. Now, let's go."

With that, she pulled the door sharply open and stepped inside the car. Boyd's expression darkened to an ominous frown as his actions mirrored hers, slamming the door angrily behind him as he forced the car into gear and sped towards the main road.