In Kelly’s absence, DS Kate Umshaw would be in charge, and Kelly had left clear instructions for her team to investigate the burglary and George’s last movements. Had anyone seen him fishing? Where had he bought his groceries? Who had he called? Had the phantom workmen turned up? None of their inquiries so far had picked up any of the items stolen from the sheds, so they were still chasing the vehicle tracks and CCTV on the roads out of Keswick. The burglars could have gone east to the M6, then to Scotland or south. Or they could have gone west to Workington and Whitehaven, then on to Barrow-in-Furness.

Kelly’s brief from HQ was to work with the Met to gain an understanding of George Murphy’s life, but she was acutely aware of a growing tug of anxiety in her stomach. She hadn’t been back to London since she’d quit the Met, and from what she could gather, Matt still worked the murder squad in Hendon.

‘How long will you be?’ asked Johnny. She knew he’d sensed her anxiety; Johnny wasn’t stupid, and he’d often asked her if she missed the city. She looked at him and saw tension in him too. It softened her.

‘No longer than a week.’

‘I’ll miss you. This is weird.’

‘I know. I feel as though I’m wading into the unknown. I lived there, for Christ’s sake. I don’t know why I’m so worried.’

‘How do you feel about bumping into old colleagues?’

Johnny didn’t know about Matt. She’d never felt the need to discuss the fact that she’d been shat on by a colleague who just happened to be her lover.

‘Mixed.’ She concentrated on what clothes to take. Work was easily covered by suits and jackets, but the city was almost ten degrees hotter than Cumbria this week, and she toyed with how many jumpers to pack, if any.

‘Where are you staying?’

‘Apparently we’ve got a Premier Inn near Hendon.’

‘At least you know the area.’

Kelly nodded and fiddled with the ruby ring that Johnny had bought for her. She’d miss him too. He was the first man she’d found herself trusting. He hadn’t hurt her, he hadn’t taken anything from her, and he meant what he said. She’d miss her house too; she’d become used to living here, and her routines had grown out of the stillness of the lakes and mountains. The doors to the decking were open and the breeze blew in gently. She’d been back in the Lakes for three years, but it seemed like five minutes. The thrill of the city had left her long ago, and she dreaded the assault of traffic fumes, sirens, drunks, litter and stifling air, toxic with dirt.