Imploring them to relax, which they don’t and who can blame them; they have just seen us chase their friend through the streets of the city, we begin our questioning.

The consensus is that Ben is a good friend and passionate about his craft, though one of the girls who is called either Libby or Lizzy; I can’t tell as she is mumbling, does admit that when he’s drunk, he becomes a bit creepy and weird. The others shoot her a look as if she is betraying their friend, though she doesn’t seem to notice.

Having gleaned all we can, we leave the room and make our way downstairs to the reception area. We provide Greg, the man at reception, with a picture of Ben and insist that he call us as soon as he returns, to which he readily agrees.

Once back in the car, I sink into my seat, exhausted from the day, my thoughts drifting to a chilled glass of wine.

But first, a debrief with DCI Bob Lovatt. Great.

‘Outsmarted by a student, eh?’ smirks Charlotte. We are sitting in the newly opened cocktail bar in the precinct of Marple. The new proprietors have opted for a Hawaiian themed interior, the wood panelled walls covered in framed prints of sandy beaches and beautiful sunsets. A rubber palm tree, not quite fully inflated, is languishing against the brick wall at the back and a cheerful cover version of a well-known pop song plays through the speakers at an unobtrusive volume.

Despite the array of cocktails listed on the chalk boards behind the bar, we’ve opted for two large glasses of red wine, much to the derision of the bearded bartender in the brightly coloured floral shirt.

‘I don’t know about being outsmarted. Out-ran, definitely,’ I reply, taking a sip of the Pinot Noir.

‘Either way, it amounts to you doing a shit job!’ That fucking smirk again. If it was anyone else but Charlotte goading me, I’d be pissed off. But because it’s delivered with her trademark comic effect, I can’t help but laugh, even if it impinging on the truth.

‘The day did get better though,’ I inform her, pulling a brown envelope out of my handbag and wafting it in her face. She tries to snatch it from me, but my reflexes are too quick and I pull it out of her reach to safety, nearly knocking my wine glass over in the process.

Ripping open the seal, I pull out the A4 piece of paper and unfold it. ‘Ready?’ I clear my throat and read the note aloud;

To DI Piper, I’m truly sorry for wasting your time. Please accept these by way of an apology. Reuben.

I look up at her and am greeted with a deeply unimpressed face. I know she hates suspense, so I leave the remaining contents of the envelope a mystery for a few more seconds until she looks truly venomous and my bravery falters. I set the two matte black tickets on the table. Each piece of card is decorated with a crimson border and an outline of a claw hammer. Embossed words detail the time, location and dress code for the premiere of Hell Hammer, the second film in The Threat film trilogy.