He catches sight of his own reflection in the window, where the scar on his left cheek stands out, livid and inflamed. It’s always worse in hot weather; no wonder the estate agent seemed so edgy. The town hall clock chimes the half hour.

He might be getting a bit hung up on the girl. He knows her name, of course, knows all the names of the cases he reviews, but he prefers to distance himself whenever he can. He has a tendency to get too close, as the detective chief inspector often reminds him. Review, append, move on. How would she feel about him revisiting a three-year-old crime scene?

He considers, not for the first time, whether the Cold Case Review Unit (or “sea-crew,” as it is so inelegantly referred to by his superiors) was ever really intended to get results. He suspects it was more of a PR stunt, a way for the force to show that no stone was ever left unturned. The plan was simply to apply new techniques to old cases. It envisaged new DNA evidence, advanced techniques for lifting fingerprints, centralized databases that threw up previously unlinked crimes and pointed out the similarities between them.

But Tyler has taken his remit a little further than that. New technology is all well and good—at twenty-nine he hardly considers himself a Luddite—but sometimes he finds it’s far simpler than that. All it really needs is a fresh pair of eyes. The sifting through of old case files, the re-interviewing of witnesses and retired colleagues. A question not asked that should have been. The DCI indulges him, as long as he gets results. And he does get them, more often than not. Still, she doesn’t appreciate him lingering too long on any one case.

A chant starts up in a nearby pub, someone downing a yard of ale. He checks his phone while he waits for the lights to change at a crossing and finds a string of missed calls from Sally-Ann. He listens to three increasingly excitable messages reminding him about the meeting tonight and considers whether he still intends to go.

He looks again at his watch. He hates this time of day. Sometimes, when people find out what he does for a living, they ask him whether he struggles to sleep at night, in light of all the horrible things he must see. But sleep has never been a problem for Tyler.

No, it’s the early evening that troubles him. The time when people with lives untouched by tragedy are preparing meals for loved ones, and wondering if they have PE tomorrow and whether or not the kit’s been washed. The time that Mum gets home from work and the kids come in for tea. That’s the time that reaches out to remind him of all the horror in the world. It’s the time when the news breaks.