She turns away from Robin, and he does the same, respecting the silence. She stares at her screen but she can’t concentrate. The same question comes back into her head. Was Jon lying, all this time? Was he using her? How many times has she seen it? Women in the nick, being lied to by men. Their excuses, all the same. He loves me, I love him. It’s not like that. He’d never do that to me.

She was no better than them. Deceived. But she can’t believe it. She pictures his face, the last time she saw him. Smiling, happy, relieved that he was going to leave Amy. He couldn’t have lied.

She needs to get to the bottom of this, once and for all.

Freya sends a quick message, trying to track down PC Watts, then moves on to looking at the Miller financials. They received permission to view their accounts when Jonathan was first murdered, although she knows Amy has rescinded that now. Still, they have a spreadsheet, downloaded in that first week, and Freya scans it, looking back over months of boring transactions for anything interesting.

Waitrose, Tesco, Co-op. Costa Coffee. A number of expensive clothes shops. Jonathan’s pay going in – he earned more than Freya does, by miles – then Amy’s. She didn’t earn much, but enough to keep her going in the event of a divorce. Although, not if the money spent in all those clothes shops is anything to go by. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he asked Amy for a divorce and she killed him. But how? How? Freya keeps on coming back to that.

The way he was found, in the Premier Inn. Just hanging. If someone had forced him there, there would have been signs of foul play. Defensive wounds to his hands. Even if he’d been sedated, surely he’d have fought back?

And the CCTV, showing one guy walking in. It makes no sense. Plus Amy has an alibi. Bloody Amy.

Her eyes keep scrolling down the list, and then she sees it. Mamas & Papas. Mothercare. JoJo Maman Bébé. Amy, or both of them, had been buying things from baby shops.

She clicks away, sending the report to Robin.

‘You look, I can’t see anything,’ she says to him.

He stares at her, then nods.

She goes back to her background checks – Khalid Riaz next. But she still can’t concentrate.

She hears Robin tapping. The constant beat of his middle finger on the desk, something that normally drives her mad, is, today, reassuring. He’s concentrating, which is more than can be said for her.

‘Frey—’ he starts.

‘I know, I know,’ she interrupts. ‘The baby shops.’

‘Well, yeah,’ he says. ‘But look at this.’

She turns and focuses on the line on his screen. He’s highlighted it with his cursor, turning it from white to grey.

Select Events, it reads. £250.00.