Not Dead Enough

was worth keeping in the mix. One more fact for jurors to debate.
    Bella added that Bishop’s home computer contents were currently being analysed by Ray Packham, in the High Tech Crime Division, and she was awaiting his report. And then she delivered the killer blow.
    ‘We received the lab reports back on the DNA analysis of semen found present in Mrs Bishop’s vagina,’ she said, reading from her notes in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘There were two different spermatozoa ejaculates present in the samples taken by the Home Office pathologist at the post-mortem,’ she announced. ‘In the opinion of the pathologist, based on the mobility of the spermatozoa present in Mrs Bishop’s vagina, both ejaculates occurred on the night of Thursday 3 August, within a few hours of each other. One is as yet unidentified – but we believe DNA tests will show it to be that of Mrs Bishop’s lover, who has admitted they had sexual intercourse on Thursday evening. The other contains a 100 percent match with DNA taken from Brian Bishop.’
    She paused for a moment. ‘This means, of course, that contrary to his alibi that he was in London, Bishop was in Brighton and had sexual intercourse with his wife – at some point close to the time of her death.’
    Grace waited patiently, letting the information sink in. He could feel the tension in the room. ‘You’ve all done a great job. We will arrest Brian Bishop tonight, on suspicion of the murder of his wife. But I’m not yet confident that he killed Sophie Harrington. So I don’t want to read in tomorrow’s Argus that we’ve solved these murders. Is that clear?’
    The silence that greeted him told him it was abundantly clear.

83
    Brian Bishop stepped out of the hotel bathroom shower, dried himself, then rummaged in the overnight bag that Maggie Campbell had brought up to his room an hour ago, containing fresh clothes she had collected from his house.
    He pulled on a dark blue polo shirt and navy slacks. The smell of a barbecue wafted in on the light breeze through the open window. It was tantalizing, even though, with his churned-up stomach, he had little appetite. He was regretting accepting an invitation to dinner with Glenn and Barbara Mishon, who were his and Katie’s closest friends. Normally he loved their company and when Barbara had rung, earlier today, she had persuaded him to come over.
    At the time it had seemed a more attractive proposition than spending another evening alone in this room with his thoughts and a room service trolley. But his meeting this afternoon with Robert Vernon had brought home to him the full reality of what had happened, and left him feeling deeply depressed. It was as if, up until then, it had all been just a bad dream. But now the enormity weighed down on him. There was so much to think about, too much. He really just wanted to sit alone and gather his thoughts.
    His brown suede loafers were on the floor. It was too warm really to put on socks, but it would look too relaxed, too disrespectful to Katie, if he was overly casual. So he sat down on the bed and tugged on a pale blue pair, then pushed his feet into his shoes. Outside, in one of the back gardens his window overlooked, he heard people chattering, a child shouting, music playing, a tinkle of laughter.
    Then there was a knock on his door.
    Probably room service wanting to turn down the beds, he thought, opening it. Instead he saw the two police officers who had first broken the news of Katie’s death to him.
    The black one held up his warrant card. ‘Detective Sergeant Branson and Detective Constable Nicholl. May we come in, sir?’
    Bishop did not like the expression on their faces. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, stepping back into the room and holding the door open for them. ‘Do you have some news for me?’
    ‘Brian Desmond Bishop,’ Branson said, ‘evidence has come to light, as a result of which I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Mrs Katherine Bishop. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Is that clear?’
    Bishop did not respond for a moment. Then he said, ‘You can’t be serious.’
    ‘My colleague, DC Nicholl, is going to give you a quick body search.’
    Almost mechanically, Bishop raised his arms, to allow Nicholl to frisk him. ‘I’m – I’m sorry,’ Bishop then said. ‘I need to call my