“Did anyone see anything that night?” She would rather get an update from him than attempt to wheedle one from Steph. She never knew what Steph might want in exchange.

He took a swig of his cup-a-soup, crunching a crouton as he considered. “Not much. A vague description of a stocky white man running from the rear of the house. He had either”—Smiffy began to check the options off on his fingers—“a cap pulled low, a woolly hat on, or a hood up, and he might’ve had a beard or possibly a scarf. It was dark and already smoky by then, and our best witness was smacked off his tits. The house next door but one, allegedly home to a law-abiding family of excellent repute, has CCTV fixed to every other brick, and it caught a dark SUV driving away at speed. No make, model, or plate visible.” He blew on his soup, sending steam twirling toward the ceiling. “Sorry it’s not better news, love.”

“It’s not your fault, mate. Cheers, though.”

She walked toward the Major Crimes office with all the enthusiasm of a condemned woman, clutching her KitKat as a lacklustre final meal. Steph had propped the door open, and she met Rosie on the threshold, barring the way as if Rosie hadn’t earned the right to access the inner sanctum.

“I’ve booked Interview Three,” Steph said. The small room, especially designed to host victim or relative interviews, was cosy and welcoming, and, more to the point as far as Rosie was concerned, came with its own brewing facilities.

She put the kettle on as Steph arranged her paperwork and opened a laptop. No one had ever fathomed how to turn the radiator off, and it was blasting out heat. Already sweaty with apprehension, Rosie slung her coat over the closest chair and opened the window wide. The scent of kebab spices and chippy drifted in, so reminiscent of that night in the hospital with Jem that she stabbed her teabag with a spoon, wretched all over again.

“When are you resuming work?” Steph asked, gesturing at the bandage around Rosie’s forearm.

Rosie set the mugs beside the laptop. Its screen was locked and password-protected. “I never called in sick,” she said. She had planned to, before everything had gone to shit with Jem. She sat a full sofa cushion away from Steph. “I’ll be in as usual tomorrow.”

Steph tasted her coffee and got up to add more milk. “Forgotten how I like it already?” she said. A pout curled her bottom lip, but she ran a hand across the nape of Rosie’s neck before she sat next to her. “You scared me the other night. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.” The close confines gave her voice an uncomfortable intimacy, and she shifted until they were thigh to thigh.