‘How are you, Chris?’ a woman with sergeant’s stripes on her shoulders asked, as she walked into the hallway. She shook his hand for a moment too long and he knew she was looking for the scars. He didn’t blame her. Everyone at the Met knew the story.

‘It’s the other one,’ he said.

The sergeant nodded half an apology and let go, then ushered them through to a bright kitchen at the back of the house.

‘How is it?’ she asked, pulling up a chair at the oak dining table and inviting Keller and Foster to do the same.

‘It’s still attached,’ Foster said.

‘It’s really good to see you,’ Cullen told him. ‘Apart from the circumstances, obviously.’

‘It’s good to see you too, Ruth.’

Keller looked dazed, and the policewoman softened her voice as she spoke to her.

‘I’m Ruth Cullen,’ she said. ‘I’m a sergeant with the Metropolitan Police.’

Keller just nodded an acknowledgement.

‘You weren’t home last night?’ Cullen asked.

When Keller didn’t answer, Foster said, ‘Home is a hotel right now. I moved her three days ago.’

Ruth Cullen looked intrigued.

‘Because?’

‘Because of some threatening letters,’ Foster said. ‘Stalker stuff. Someone seemed familiar with Kirsten’s routine, so we changed it.’

‘Fair enough. But I’m trying to get a sense of Rosario’s last movements.’

Inside Cullen cringed at her own words. It was crass to refer to the victim by her surname in front of a friend, but the slip didn’t register with Keller.

‘What happened to her?’ Keller asked.

Cullen took a moment to make sure she got her words in order.

‘Sometime last night Maria decided to take her own life.’

‘How?’

‘She attached a cord—’ Cullen began.

‘She hanged herself?’ Keller said, suddenly coming to life. ‘No way – she wouldn’t. Not in a million years.’

Foster couldn’t imagine it, either.

‘She hadn’t had any bad news from home recently?’ Cullen persisted. ‘Or had her mood changed?’

Keller shook her head. She would have noticed if her coach was suicidal. She looked to Foster for reassurance and got it, in the look on his face.

‘Chris, I’ll call you later and fill you in on some of the details,’ Cullen told Foster. ‘Now’s probably not the time.’

Her eyes came to rest on Keller, and Foster wondered what it was that Cullen didn’t feel she could say in front of her. Soon they were walking back to the front of the house.

The photographers started shouting as soon as the front door opened. Keller and Foster stepped out into the morning sun to face the growing crowd, but Ruth Cullen put a hand on Foster’s arm and held him back.

‘We’re pretty certain it’s suicide,’ she said. ‘But if the pathologist finds anything different, I’ll let you know.’