‘Jesus Liam, you don’t have to yell,’ I croak, the words barely escaping from my throat, ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

I throw the phone on the bed and gently rise to a sitting position. My head is heavy and my eyes feel dry. I also note that I am naked. This may complicate matters. I turn my head slowly and notice Tom squinting at me.

‘We’re going to be water cooler fodder,’ he rasps, smiling.

‘We can’t tell anyone about this, I already feel at a disadvantage having just come back to work. The last thing I need is more drama.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he replies, ‘it’s between you and me.’

I thank him and slip a leg out from underneath the covers. ‘Turn around, I need to get dressed.’

‘What?’ he laughs. ‘But I saw everything last night!’

‘Turn around!’ He holds his hands up and follows my instruction, rolling over on the bed and shoving his face into the pillow. I shuffle out of bed and scrabble about on the floor, trying to locate the clothes I hastily discarded the night before.

When I’ve recovered the lost garments, I stand up and pull them on at record speed. Looking up once I’ve fastened my bra, I notice the mirror on the far wall reflecting Tom’s gaze, fully focussed on me.

‘You creep!’ I hiss, before leaving the room with a wide smile.

DCI Bob Lovatt’s office is bigger than mine. A framed Lowry painting depicting matchstick men congregating outside a factory hangs pride of place on the wall behind his mahogany desk. DCI Bob is sitting in a high-backed swivel chair across from Liam and me. He’s coming up to retirement age; a heavy-set man with ruddy cheeks, thinning grey hair and a carefully shaped goatee. Dark brown eyes are currently blazing in our direction and he is scowling at us.

‘Late night?’ he asks, looking pointedly at my heavy eyes, though he presses on without waiting for an answer. ‘We let the director go. The blood on his overalls was theatrical blood; he used those overalls when he was filming particularly bloody scenes, which I believe are a trademark of his.’

Neither Liam nor I say anything. Bob continues ‘Surprisingly, he didn’t seem too upset about being detained. He requested that you ring him, Erika. I can only imagine that he wants an apology.’

He hands me a Post-it note with a mobile number scrawled on it, before flicking his hand at us, our signal to leave his office.

I close the door behind me and shuffle across the room to my office. When inside, I throw myself into the chair and lean back, staring at the ceiling. Fooled by fake blood, what a fucking idiot, I think to myself. Perhaps Liam and I had been a tad hasty in bringing Reuben to the station.

I swallow my pride, pick up the telephone receiver and dial the number. It rings for a matter of seconds before he answers it.