‘I assume so but I don’t know. Nobody knows why he or she did what they did. The Florentine police didn’t get near anyone. The killer was never caught.’

Cole gazed into Mr Doherty’s eyes, saw a welling of emotion.

‘Can I get a colour copy of this picture, Mr Doherty?’

Mr Doherty held his hand out and, taking the picture from Cole, stood and walked to the photocopier in the corner of the room. His shoulders sagged as he copied the picture and it occurred to Cole that these memories were deeply personal and painful to him.

Mr Doherty walked back to the desk, with the same picture in each hand and an expression in his eyes like he was locked in a time bubble.

He sat down, slid the colour copy across the desk to Cole and placed the framed picture back inside the cold darkness of his drawer.

‘What happened to Richard Ezra?’

‘When he came back to England it took just under twelve months for him to completely fall to pieces. It started when Sarah’s body was repatriated. He refused to accept that the body in the coffin was hers. He insisted the Florentine authorities had planted another body and it was all part of a conspiracy to protect the killer. I was there when the coffin was opened and he could see it was Sarah. I saw something in his eyes, a wildness that made me sick to the core because I knew in that moment he was doomed.

‘He never returned to work and wound up in a haze of pills and alcohol. We offered to help him, we tried to intervene; many, many people did but he retreated into himself, stopped answering the phone and the door.

‘I believe he killed himself.’

‘Can you tell me a little more, Mr Doherty?’ asked Cole.

‘His car was last caught on CCTV on Jericho Lane leading down to Otterspool Promenade. The car was discovered on a parking bay overlooking the prom. I believe he threw himself into the water and drowned. His body was never recovered. It wasn’t just one life that got taken that day in Florence. It was two lives. It just took Richard longer to go, during which time…’

Mr Doherty looked sick to his core.

‘What happened to Richard Ezra during that year?’

‘He completely changed. Grief, alcohol and drugs. When he disappeared, I went to his house with the police looking for a suicide note. We found his laptop but no note.’

‘What did you find on his laptop, Mr Doherty?’

‘He’d taken to downloading pornography in the last twelve months of his life. Violent pornography from the dark web. Rape. Torture. Horrific abuse.’

‘Who were the victims?’

‘Women.’ The wind pushed a volley of rain into the window behind Mr Doherty’s head. ‘He used the internet to find prostitutes. He was a good man who completely collapsed.’