‘Following in Dad’s footsteps,’ Kath said. ‘Growing the business for the next generation. It’s all he wanted to do.’

She’d arranged to meet Maggie at the office so from Edgbaston, Robin drove straight into town. The puny February sun hadn’t broken through but there was some light behind the cloud now. For the first time in weeks – since the confrontation with Freshwater, in fact – she felt, if not positive, at least not completely adrift.

From the car park across from the office, she texted Lennie. She’d been asleep when Robin had left; she’d put a guilty kiss on her cheek and slipped out, afraid that if she woke her, she’d miss Kath. It was quarter to nine now, she’d be starting school as Robin typed.

Sorry to sneak out this morning – didn’t want to wake you. Good luck today – see you later on. Love you.

When she reached the top floor, legs buzzing from the stairs, Maggie was on a call. She raised her eyebrows and pointed animatedly at the phone: Got something here.

Robin listened while she checked West Midlands Police’s Twitter feed. Burglaries, pursuit of a stolen car on the M42, an early-morning warrant in Yardley with cannabis and weapons recovered – nothing that seemed relevant to either case. She searched for Corinna, nothing new, then typed in ‘Joshua Legge’.

‘Were you in the Warwick Parkway area in the early hours of 13 February? Did you see this man?’

The photo was the same one of him by the fire, glass in hand, eyes half closed, the smile more and more vampirical the longer she looked at it. He was barely recognizable as the man she’d just seen on the wall at Russell Road.

‘Right, no,’ said Maggie behind her, ‘that’s not how I roll. I gave you my word.’

The tweet had been posted late last night not by West Midlands Police but Warwickshire. In the past, before West Midlands was created, Birmingham had been under Warwickshire’s jurisdiction but it was a neighbouring force now, wrapped around the city to the south and south-east. Clearly they were sharing information.

‘Of course. Yes. And likewise. You’ve got my number.’ Maggie hung up and sat back in her chair.

‘Who was it?’

‘Friend of Becca’s, if friend’s the word. Bloke called Stevo – Steven Cotton. He says he did morphine with her.’

Robin did a double-take. ‘Morphine?’

‘Started as a curiosity thing, he claims. His gran died and when he was helping clean up her house, he found her medication.’

‘Alternative translation: he knew his gran was on painkillers so when she died, he hot-footed it round there. When?’

‘She died in June.’

‘And Becca got involved how?’ Robin pulled out a chair and sat down.