Both women turned, one holding a black plastic bin-bag in her gloved hands, the other holding a long-handled grabber. She used it to pluck an empty crisp packet from the pavement and dropped it into the open bin-bag. Nichole Fyfe. ‘Ah, David, you’re an absolute lifesaver!’

The other one dumped the bag at her feet and pulled off her gloves. ‘Lovely.’ She peeled back her hood, exposing a curly mass of scarlet curls, every bit as post-box red as Samantha’s. That would be Morgan Thingummy – the one on the TV Sunday morning making come-to-bed-for-kinky-fun eyes at the camera.

Insch handed them each a polystyrene cup, grinning away like a proud parent. ‘Slumming it, I’m afraid: we left the bone china back at the studio.’ He pressed the plunger on the thermos and the sticky sweet scent of roasted coffee and hazelnut syrup coiled around them. ‘Logan, this is Morgan Mitchell, she’s our incredibly scary Mrs Shepherd. Morgan, this is DI McRae.’

She curled her hands around the polystyrene cup, peering at him over the edge. Her accent was pure New York, a lot stronger than the one she’d used on the TV and completely unlike the voice she’d used on film, necklacing the man whose face wasn’t composited properly. ‘Well, well, well. . .’ A slow, naughty smile. ‘Nichole, you said he was cute, but you didn’t tell me he was a hunk too.’

It got very hot between Logan’s neck and his collar. ‘Well, it. . . I. . .’

‘That’s some pair of black eyes you got there. Makes me think of Fight Club, God I loved that film. Very sexy.’ She stuck out her hand for shaking. ‘McRae. . . You’re the guy who used to be David’s protégé, right? ’

‘Well, I don’t know if I’d—’

Insch thumped Logan on the back. ‘Of course you were.’ The grin changed into a frown as he hunched forward in front of his stars. ‘Now, are you both OK? Need anything? ’

Nichole smiled at him. ‘We’re fine, honestly.’ Then she slipped her arm through Logan’s. Looking up at him with those pale-blue eyes, the pupils large, dark, and shiny as buttons. ‘So, DI McRae, have you come here to sample Rudy and Lola’s chicken casserole, or. . .? ’

It was definitely getting warmer out here. ‘We need to find anyone who’s seen Agnes Garfield, or knows where she is.’

‘God, Agnes. . .’ Morgan made choking noises. ‘Don’t get me wrong, lovely girl, but jeesh, she could be intense.’

Nichole gave his arm a squeeze. ‘It was such a shame, she was so desperate to get into film. It was her life’s ambition.’

Insch cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well. . .’

‘Zander was going to give her a trial as my body double. She was so excited. And then she just. . .’ Nichole shrugged. The movement rubbed Logan’s arm up, then down the side of her breast.