‘Yeah,’ he sighs, and takes a sip of wine. ‘Although I feel like I’m not getting very far. Just confusion, everywhere I look.’ She looks interested, so he continues. ‘I followed up with all the eyewitnesses from the party yesterday afternoon. All of them were wasted. Some remember Amy, but not Jonathan. Others say he was out in the smoking area – although,’ he says, pointing his wine glass at Steph, ‘he didn’t smoke.’

‘Anything on social media?’ Steph asks.

‘Again, some photos with Amy in the background, but nothing of Jonathan. And the photo of Kal and Jonathan that we now know was old.’

‘So he might not have been there?’

‘No. Although, as you and I both know, absence of something doesn’t prove it didn’t happen. Are his tox results back yet?’

‘Should be next week, they’re backed up at the lab.’

‘Great. Thank you,’ he adds with a smile, remembering he’s supposed to be having fun, not interrogating Steph. ‘Plus the person arriving at the hotel in Jonathan’s car wasn’t him, although we have no idea who it was.’

‘So how did he get there?’

Robin shrugs. ‘Not a clue. What about you?’ Robin’s desperate to ask, but tries his hardest to keep it casual. ‘Have you found anything from the Stevens crash?’

Steph looks at him sympathetically. ‘No. Nothing new.’ A ting from the kitchen prevents Robin from asking anything further. ‘Come through,’ she says. ‘Dinner’s nearly ready. Just need to put the veg on.’

They get up and walk back into the kitchen. Steph turns and puts the kettle on. ‘Lasagne,’ she says. ‘Is that okay?’

‘Perfect.’ Robin’s stomach rumbles in response. He can’t remember the last time he ate a home-cooked meal. He sits down at her kitchen table, laid up ready for dinner, feeling relaxed and comfortable. He’s always liked Steph’s house – minimal, her scientific mind never being one for clutter or fluff, but stylish. Photos on the wall from the places she’s been; a corkboard is on the far side of the kitchen, medals from her numerous races and triathlons hanging from a hook below.

‘You got any events planned?’ he asks as she pours boiling water into the saucepan.

‘Half Ironman at the end of the month, then that’s it for the season,’ she says. ‘Water gets too cold in winter. You fancy joining me?’

The idea of swimming outdoors at any time of year seems insane to Robin. He can’t remember the last time he went to the gym, or even broke into a run. But he knows she’s joking.

‘I’ll give this one a miss, thanks,’ he says. ‘Maybe I’ll stand and cheer on the sidelines instead, in a warm coat with a cup of coffee.’