Freya watches Amy Miller glare at them from behind her rain-spattered windscreen. Fuck off, bitch, she thinks, then pulls the collar up on her coat, ducking back inside the Millers’ house. She wishes she would just leave. Why does she have to wait there? Staring at them?

They arrived at the prearranged time that morning. Freya had driven to Butler’s house first thing, wanting to arrive at the Millers’ in the one car so as not to look heavy-handed, and she found him reluctant to let her inside.

‘But I need to pee!’ she’d begged, that first cup of tea of the day having made itself known, and he’d grudgingly moved aside as she came face to face with the reason for his hesitation.

Steph had been finishing up a mug of tea in the doorway and Freya had stopped, mouth open.

‘DC West,’ Steph had said calmly, putting the empty mug on the side and picking up her coat.

‘Dr Harper,’ Freya had replied, her cheeks colouring, then dashing inside the bathroom. As she’d sat and peed, she’d thought about her boss. Dark horse, that Robin Butler, having a thing with the pathologist. It was strange to think about him being close with anyone.

By the time she’d finished, Dr Harper had gone and Butler was waiting impatiently for her in the open doorway.

‘Can we go now?’ he’d growled, and she’d not dared to ask him any more.

Now, Freya hears Amy Miller’s Audi start up and drive away. Four of them stand in the Millers’ hallway – her and Butler, and the two borrowed PCs, gloves and shoe covers already on. They both seem young, cocky in their new uniforms. One, tall and thin, a sprinkling of acne across his chin, introduced himself first as Mayhew. The other – PC Graves – is shorter, baby-faced, with a large grin.

They have Scientific Services on speed dial, evidence bags at the ready.

‘What are we looking for, Sarge?’ Mayhew asks Butler. Graves is hovering behind him, uncertain.

Butler’s already told them about the nature of Jonathan Miller’s death. ‘Sex toys, porn, anything similar. Things that look out of the ordinary. Anything weird. You both start downstairs, I’ll tackle the garage.’

Butler turns and leaves the three of them, and Freya waits as the two PCs grumble then go into the living room.

She hears the taller one comment as they go: ‘Butler’s weird, does that count?’

Graves gives a snort of laughter. ‘You heard the story about him?’

Freya can’t see them now, but she lingers, out of sight. Part of her knows she should go, but the other part is curious to find out more about her enigmatic boss.

‘No, what?’ She imagines the pair looking around nervously, heads together.