Jane had been trying to keep a conversation going with Michael until Spencer returned, but he seemed eager to leave. He sat, obviously uncomfortably, with his legs outstretched, and when she asked him about his family, he had been dismissive, explaining that his condition was too much for his parents. He looked away as he described his mother as somewhat over-emotional and, although no one could be blamed for his condition, she somehow decided that it was her fault. His father, on the other hand, had simply found it all too difficult to deal with. Neither of them understood his need to be independent. Michael shrugged his shoulders.

‘I doubt if my parents would have approved of my extracurricular activities. I think their bridge circle would have refused to ever play a game with them again.’

Jane smiled. ‘Before the illness struck, what did you do?’

‘I was hoping to be a graphic designer, but I opted out of uni, did some backpacking in Australia and New Zealand. Then I went to Dubai as I was out of cash and my fiancée wanted to get married and have a family. She tried to persuade me to get back to London to finish my degree. My dad forked out for a flat in Wandsworth, not far from where I am now.’ He laughed softly. ‘Like all plans, mine truly went tits up.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ Jane replied, feeling this was an inadequate response.

Michael suddenly became very agitated and started moving from side to side in the chair. ‘I need to stand,’ he said, rocking backwards and forward. He then lurched upwards to stand unsteadily, almost knocking over the table. Jane had to quickly grab the edge to keep it upright. Spencer’s open file slid off, and some of the contents spilled out across the table and onto the floor.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Michael said.

‘Don’t worry, it’s fine,’ Jane said as she bent down to pick up Spencer’s notebook. Among the files were photographs of Charles Foxley, the photograph of Yasmin, and some copies of reports – but also pictures of the murder scene. As Jane quickly gathered the scattered papers from the floor, Michael was staring at the photographs spilled out across the table.

‘I’m sorry, Michael, you shouldn’t have seen these. They are obviously not meant for public viewing.’

He frowned. ‘For God’s sake, I’m not a child.’

Jane had intended to put everything back into the file as quickly as possible, but instead, even though she knew that it was unethical, she placed the horrific crime scene photographs out on the table. She could see that Michael was shocked by what he saw. She started explaining where each photograph had been taken: the bathroom, the bedroom . . . She then took the autopsy reports out of the file.