Maggie was silent. Fry tried to detect from the expression on just one side of her face whether she was remembering any more. But it was impossible to tell. Finally, Maggie’s eyes came fully open, and her body tensed again.

‘Does it tell you in my file that I’m unable to form relationships?’

Fry could only nod. The moment was lost. No point in trying to recreate it now.

‘Yes, it would. But I was like that before, you know,’ said Maggie. ‘Too busy for relationships. And it’s too late now.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Please don’t try to patronize me on the subject. I’m learning to be a realist. People won’t accept me now. But people have never really accepted me in my entire life.’

Fry frowned. If there was anything in the file to support this perception, she had missed it. Maggie Crew had received a perfectly normal education and upbringing. Her father had been a regional manager for British Rail, and the family had lived in Wingerworth, near Chesterfield. Mrs Crew had died some years ago of cancer, and a sister, Catherine, had married and lived in Ireland. Maggie’s father was still alive, though, and living not so far away.

The two girls, Fry noted, had attended a well-known Catholic girls school in Chesterfield, and both had gone on to university. Maggie had studied for her Law degree in Nottingham. She had been successful in her career, yet had never married or had children.

‘Do you see much of your father?’ asked Fry.

‘He’s rather elderly now,’ said Maggie.

‘Yes?’

‘And . . . well, we were never a very close family, really.’

‘Does the same apply to your sister?’

‘Cath? She has her own family. A husband and four children. Why would she bother about me? She’s as content as an old cat in her little town in Ireland.’

‘And did you never want to do the same, Maggie?’

But Maggie smiled. Fry was beginning to recognize that smile as one that signalled a subject she didn’t want to discuss.

‘What about you, Diane?’ said Maggie. ‘Married?’

‘No.’

‘Children?’

‘No.’

‘Ah. It would interfere with the career, perhaps? No crèche at the police station? No husband at home, no mother-in-law to look after them during the day? It’s so difficult for some women, I know. We see them in the legal profession, carrying their babies invisibly on their backs in court, disposable nappies spilling out of their briefcases, baby sick on their clothes, yawning from lack of sleep on the night before an important case. You can’t help but feel sorry for them.’

‘It happens in the police, too.’

‘No broody feelings for you either, Diane? No ticking biological clock?’

‘I don’t believe so.’