‘Yes?’ Steph sounds out of breath, but Freya is reassured by the sound of heavy footsteps and the rush of wind against the handset. Running, rather than shagging. ‘You calling for the results, Freya?’ Steph says, getting straight to the point.

Freya agrees. ‘If that’s okay, sorry to call on a—’

But Steph cuts her off. ‘I’m three miles from your house. I’ll take a detour. Give me half an hour.’

While Freya waits, she looks back through the files from the sister’s death. Forensic reports, mechanical overview of the SUV (no defects found contributory to collision), pathology results from the basic post-mortem. She skims them all until something catches her eye.

A line, in the middle of the report about Georgia Riley’s cause of death.

…examination revealed a gravid uterus, containing a female foetus, estimated to be 21/40…

Oh, Robin, Freya thinks. She was pregnant? As if it couldn’t have been any worse.

Next to her, her mobile buzzes. But it’s not her usual phone, it’s the second one, the one she used for all calls to Jonathan. She was looking at it last night. Rereading the messages between them at two a.m. when she couldn’t sleep, her mind too full of him. And now the battery is flat and she’s charging it.

She picks it up and looks at it, recognising the number.

You don’t give up, do you, she thinks, a fond smile for her boss. But it worries her. He’s still trying to track down the mistress, and if he’s calling the mobile, who knows what else he might be doing? It’s only a matter of time before he finds her.

And there’s the small matter of Jonathan’s laptop. Stolen by her, potentially holding evidence from the hidden cameras that could show what happened that weekend. But hand it in now, and she’s buggered. She’s on there, too – in more ways than one. If only she knew his password, she thinks for the hundredth time.

Her doorbell rings and she hastily hides the mobile in a drawer. She opens the door and Steph stands in front of her, sweaty, decked out in skintight Lycra, trainers on her feet, water bottle in hand.

‘I can’t stay for long,’ she says, getting her breath back and stepping into the hallway. ‘Don’t want to cool down too much.’

‘You didn’t have to come all the way over here,’ Freya says.

But Steph shrugs. ‘Makes a nice change. I was going to call you anyway.’

‘You have the results from the tox screen? Was he drinking?’

‘Don’t know,’ Steph replies, and Freya’s disappointed. They walk through to the living room and, before Freya can stop her, Steph picks up one of the reports from the floor. ‘You’re looking into the Riley case, too?’ Steph asks.