‘And wondering what it would be like now to have a daughter of her own, instead of being so alone?’ said Fry.

‘Exactly,’ said Catherine. ‘And there’s no one else she can blame for that, is there? No one but herself.’

Fry took a moment to readjust her assessment of Maggie Crew. She was seeing a different person, sensing a greater tragedy taking place in the darkened rooms of the apartment at Derwent Court than she had imagined until now.

Catherine Dyson must have wondered about the silence at the other end of the line. It was her turn to ask a question, and the astuteness of it took Diane Fry by surprise.

‘Have you been going to see my sister often?’ she asked.

‘Well, yes,’ said Fry. ‘You know the circumstances, don’t you?’

‘Of course. You’re doing your job, I see that. But . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I can’t tell over the phone,’ said Catherine, ‘but may I ask how old you are?’

‘What on earth difference does that make?’ said Fry.

‘Oh, never mind,’ said Catherine hastily. ‘I’m sure it makes no difference at all.’

The offices of Quigley, Coleman & Crew were on Peveril Street. Diane Fry entered a reception area fronted by smoked plate glass. A blonde receptionist with a fake tan took her name without showing any interest in her warrant card, and took her time looking at a diary on her desk.

‘I’m sorry, Ms Crew is not available.’

‘What?’ Fry was brought up hard. She had thought of cancelling, true. But she had never got round to it. ‘What do you mean? I’ve got an appointment.’

The receptionist pretended to look at the diary. ‘I’m sorry, she’s cancelled it. Something came up. You know.’

The girl could hardly be bothered concealing her contempt for someone whose appointment had been cancelled at the last minute without telling her. She was obviously somebody of no importance.

‘Did she say why?’ asked Fry.

‘No. I’m sorry.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘I can’t tell you that.’

‘Then give Ms Crew a message. You can do that, can’t you?’

‘I suppose so.’

Fry leaned closer over the desk. ‘Tell her one thing. Tell her: “What if Jenny wasn’t enough for him either?”’

The girl looked nervous. ‘I don’t understand that.’

‘You don’t have to. Just write it down and give it to your boss.’

‘I think you ought to leave.’

‘You haven’t written it down yet.’

The girl wrote the eight words on a memo pad, her hand shaking slightly. ‘There. I’ll give it to Ms Crew when she’s in the office.’

‘Right. And then you can tell her to damn well phone me.’

‘I think I’ll really have to ask you to leave now.’

‘You know I’m a police officer?’

‘Yes. But that doesn’t mean I have to put up with harassment.’