He smiles. “No need to remind them, eh?”

It takes them no more than ten minutes to reach the university. Finding somewhere to park takes nearer fifteen. Sophie Denham is a law student who’s agreed to meet them strictly on her own terms. Her suggestion to Rabbani was that they meet her in the coffee shop at the student union. Tyler doesn’t want to meet the girl at all, but he can’t just ignore the possible lead. He tells himself his interest is professional. They were at school together—Oscar and this . . . so-called fiancée—which means she’s likely to have known Gerald Cartwright as well. And anyway, as uncomfortable as the whole interview is likely to be for him, better he talks to her than Doggett.

They find a table close to the door. Rabbani huddles round her corrugated cup of tea while he watches a handful of students and lecturers meander their way through the building. Term may not have started in earnest yet, but already the institution is beginning to wake from its long summer slumber. He knows Sophie Denham the minute she walks in. She’s tall and blond and very beautiful. She’s wearing a pair of dark jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and unbranded trainers. Her hair is tied back in a functional ponytail, and she carries a brown satchel-style briefcase that no doubt contains her lecture notes meticulously organized and color coordinated. She already has lawyer written all over her. She’s one step away from a designer suit, paid for by her corporately negligent clients.

But she also spots him. He sees her glance him up and down as he gets to his feet. She comes straight toward him, clearly not doubting for a moment that she has the right man. First Wentworth in the churchyard, now her; perhaps he has the word cop written across his forehead. Perhaps it was there the night he met Oscar.

The way Denham holds herself, she looks as though she’s heading into battle in the courtroom. “Detective Sergeant Tyler,” she says, not bothering with the question.

He holds out his hand and warrant card. “I’m DS Tyler. This is Constable Rabbani.”

Denham takes the warrant card from him and examines it closely. Then she does the same with Rabbani’s. The gesture reminds him of Edna Burnside checking for bogus gasmen. “Can I get you a drink?” he offers.

She sits, tucking her satchel very precisely under her chair. “I’ll have a green tea, please. And a banana.” She stares at him, the banana clearly some sort of challenge.