A quick pass through Nadia Wilkowa’s Facebook page had indentified the two friends in her memo-board photos as Ashley Marr and Anya Burba. Anya was a teaching assistant in a primary school in Todmorden, a twenty-minute drive from Bradfield. Ashley was closer, a receptionist in a GP-run health centre in Harriestown, a ten-minute walk from Nadia’s flat. Fielding decided Ashley would be their first target. The head receptionist wasn’t thrilled when they asked to interview her, but Fielding made it clear she wasn’t going to argue the toss. With a great deal of emphatic breathing, the receptionist showed them into a tiny room with four chairs and a table. ‘It looks more suited to a poker school than anything medical,’ Paula muttered as the woman left them alone so she could fetch Ashley.

‘Let’s hope Ms Marr doesn’t have a poker face,’ Fielding said. ‘Right then, McIntyre, let’s see what you’re made of. You lead off on the interview.’

Paula was gratified at Fielding’s confidence in her. But there was no opportunity for her to say so. Ashley Marr stuck her head round the door, looking more confused than worried. ‘Are you the police? Are you sure you’ve got the right person?’

There was no mistaking the woman in the photo. Ashley looked in her mid-twenties. She had a round, cheerful face framed with a mop of auburn hair. Her large green eyes were widely spaced and coupled with a neat little nose and a small mouth, they gave her the look of a happy kitten. Her black jeans and pink jumper were both tight, as if she’d put on a few pounds since she’d bought them. Paula gave her a welcoming smile. Best to keep things relaxed and informal till they got the young woman settled, then hit her with the bad news. ‘Come in, Ashley. I’m Paula McIntyre and this is Alex Fielding. We’re police detectives here in Bradfield. Have a seat, please.’ Paula waved her to the chair furthest from the door and sat down at right angles to her.

Ashley perched on the edge of the chair. ‘I don’t understand. I haven’t done anything. What’s all this about? Do I need a lawyer? They always ask for a lawyer on the telly.’

Paula inwardly cursed the ubiquitous inaccuracies of TV drama. ‘You really don’t need a lawyer. It’s nothing you’ve done, Ashley. We need to talk to you about one of your friends.’ From her bag, she produced a copy of one of the photos from Nadia’s kitchen. She pointed to Nadia. ‘Do you recognise this person?’

Ashley looked scared. ‘It’s Nad. My mate, Nad. Nadia. What’s happened to her? Why are you here?’

‘I’m afraid I’ve got some very sad news, Ashley.’ Paula reached across the angle of the table and put a hand over hers. ‘Nadia’s dead.’