She turns. Robin’s kneeling down with his back to her on his side of the room. She stands up and joins him.

He’s staring at something on the ground. It’s black, shrivelled; she can’t make out any form or shape.

‘What is it?’ she asks.

‘I think it’s plastic. Or it was.’

Robin picks it up between two fingers of his gloved hand and holds it up to the light. She grabs the camera and takes a few photos, then looks more closely.

It’s clearly the source of the smell of burning, the plastic contracted into a small black ball. There are a few edges where the fire didn’t catch, clear plastic, perhaps some sort of bag. And at one end is a clump of something grey. Tape.

Robin looks at her. His eyes stare, wide and wild.

‘I know what happened,’ he says slowly. ‘I know what happened to Jonathan.’

70

Slowly, carefully, they bag the evidence. Freya writes a note and gives it all to one of the DCs to take down to the lab.

‘Put a rush on it. Please,’ Freya begs.

But before they can do anything else, Robin’s mobile rings. She waits as he answers it, watching his face change from interest to barely concealed boredom.

‘Yes, fine. Will do,’ he says. ‘Send me the details.’

He hangs up and she looks at him quizzically.

He sighs. ‘There’s been another break-in. Last night. That’s the sixth now, and Baker’s getting twitchy. He wants us to go down there.’

‘And do what?’

‘Interview the neighbours. Personally. See if anyone heard anything.’

‘He said that?’

‘No, some lackey. But the message was the same.’

His phone beeps, and he looks at the address. His mouth drops open and he turns the screen round to face her.

‘You’re kidding me…’ she starts.

The address: ten Ashcroft Drive. Amy Miller’s next-door neighbour.

They walk out of the police station, ready to drive to the house. Freya feels strange, like every event is conspiring to take them closer to Amy Miller. But before they go, Freya stops him.

‘You can’t go like that,’ she says, pointing to his tracksuit. ‘You need proper clothes.’

They drive to Robin’s house and he gets out.

‘Do you want to come in and wait?’ he asks. She pauses, then follows him inside.

He closes his front door and turns to look at her. His eyes are dark, his face solemn. Things feel odd between them. Slightly charged, like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm, an excess of energy in the air. She feels him hesitating, doubting himself.

Then, without thinking, she steps forward and kisses him.