‘I don’t know why he assumes I’ll be able to persuade her to talk,’ she muttered to Ariadne, the sergeant who sat opposite her.

‘It’s because you’re always so calm,’ Ariadne replied. ‘You make other people feel calm.’

‘Huh! I don’t know about that.’

‘Look how calm I am now that I know you’re going to deal with this, and I don’t have to worry about it,’ Ariadne grinned.

‘Wish me luck.’

Geraldine thought about Ariadne’s comment as she made her way to the interview room. Ariadne had spoken lightly, yet there was an element of truth in what she said. Geraldine had always regarded most of the people she met as moody and emotional. On reflection, she wondered whether she should look at things from a different perspective, and consider that she herself might be unusually phlegmatic. Certainly she had never regarded herself as especially placid by nature, yet she supposed she must be. It had taken a chance remark by a colleague to reveal that aspect of her own character to her. She had always assumed it was her training as a detective that had helped her to remain outwardly composed regardless of circumstances, but she now realised that it was in her nature to control her emotions. At forty years of age, it seemed she still didn’t know herself very well.

‘She’s distraught, Sarge,’ a female constable murmured as Geraldine entered the small interview room. ‘We can’t get any sense out of her.’

‘OK, leave her to me,’ Geraldine replied quietly. ‘Perhaps you could bring us some tea?’

The woman they were discussing was sobbing loudly. Thick shoulder-length blonde hair hung down like a veil, concealing one side of her face completely, and the other side was mostly hidden by a large white handkerchief. Geraldine spoke softly to her, and after a moment the woman blew her nose rather loudly, lowered the handkerchief and pushed her hair back off her flushed face. Her lips trembled as she gazed at Geraldine with frightened eyes, her make-up smudged and moist. Despite her strained expression, Geraldine could see she was beautiful, with large blue eyes, a small straight nose, slightly turned up at the end, and high cheekbones. If her looks hadn’t been marred by crying, she would have been exquisite.

‘I’m sorry,’ the blonde woman stammered, ‘it’s just that –’ she hiccuped, and then said in a rush, ‘my baby’s gone’. Emitting the final word in a low wail, she hid her face in her handkerchief again and sobbed.

Geraldine felt a stab of fear, but she kept her countenance steady as she responded, careful to divest her voice of any emotion.

‘You need to stop crying so you can help us to find him,’ she said briskly. ‘Please, pull yourself together. We can’t help you if you don’t give us any information.’