He doesn’t reply. He trails his fork in his leftover food, then puts it down, his appetite lost. ‘I don’t know, Freya, I really don’t. We need something.’

They’re still waiting for any results to come back from the search of Amy Miller’s house, but he doesn’t hold out much hope. They found Amy’s prescription medication, diazepam and zopiclone, which could tie to the sedatives found in Jonathan’s system, but there is no way to prove that she gave them to him. As he said to Freya before, he could have easily taken them himself.

Freya considers his words, nodding slowly. ‘Why do you think she did it?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know. Why does anyone kill?’ he says, before he realises that he can include himself in this group. Why did he? ‘Revenge? Love? Money?’ he asks.

‘Revenge for what?’

‘Did she know about you?’

‘He might have told her that weekend. But otherwise I don’t think so. And I don’t think it’s money. We haven’t found anything in their financials that would show any sort of motive.’

He knows what Freya means. Not too much, or too little. He thinks about the video of her beating herself up. ‘Perhaps there’s something not quite right there,’ he says. ‘I mean, why make out your husband’s abusing you? What did she have to gain from that?’

Freya frowns. ‘Sympathy? Attention?’

‘From who? Kal?’ Robin suggests.

‘Maybe. Was she in love with him? There were certainly a lot of phone calls between them.’

The phone logs had come in while Freya and Robin were sifting through the rubbish and Robin gave them a quick look, searching for Kal’s number. Sure enough, Amy Miller had called him on Monday afternoon, and looking back, their conversations hadn’t started there. They’d regularly messaged and spoken on the phone.

‘But there’s nothing in their texts to show any sort of romance,’ Freya replies. ‘Can you get anything else from Olivia Cross?’

Robin screws his face up. He has no desire to speak to her again, risk adding fuel to the complaint. But he agrees, ‘Worth a try. You finished?’ he asks, pointing to the near-empty takeaway trays.

Freya nods, and Robin stands up, clearing away the plates. He picks up a half-full portion of rice and adds it the leftover lemon chicken.

‘Breakfast?’ Freya asks.

‘Maybe.’ Robin smiles, and takes out the cling film, covering it and putting it in the fridge. He turns and Freya’s looking at him strangely. ‘I’m kidding,’ he adds. ‘Even for me that’s disgusting.’

‘No, it’s not that.’ She points at the tube in his hand. ‘How many rolls would you say you get through?’

‘Er…’ He looks at it, confused. ‘One a month, at most.’