And – as much as Robin hates to admit it – perhaps there is nothing to find. So someone had planted cameras. Assuming it was Jonathan Miller, it showed he didn’t trust his wife. That isn’t a crime. And without finding the video it produced, they have nothing.

Perhaps Jonathan’s death really was an accident.

The doorbell rings, and Robin looks up in surprise. He looks at the clock: eleven p.m. Who comes round unannounced at this time of night?

He pulls himself up from the sofa and goes into the hallway, turning on lights as he goes. He opens the door, and Liv Cross is standing there.

She’s dressed casually tonight. Tight blue jeans, brown knee-high boots and a light pink jumper, a coat over the top. She looks natural, pretty. And off duty.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asks gruffly. He inwardly curses himself for being so rude.

She looks embarrassed. ‘I…’ she starts. ‘I was passing, and I saw your light was on. I wanted to check you were okay.’

‘Come in.’ Robin holds the door open and she walks past him. Her hair is free, curly, over her shoulders. ‘Do you want a drink?’ he asks.

He shows her through to the kitchen and she takes her coat off, draping it over the back of a chair.

‘Wine? Beer? Whisky?’

She smiles. ‘I’m driving.’

‘Tea, coffee? Water?’ he says apologetically. ‘I have ice.’

‘Water. Sure.’

He gets a glass and fills it from the tap, then pops a few ice cubes in from the freezer. He grabs himself a beer, then gestures through to the living room. But as he follows her, he tells himself a stern no. You dodged it last time, he thinks. Don’t even think about sleeping with her.

‘You working tonight?’ he asks, more to make conversation than anything else, but then realises what he’s said and regrets his words.

But she laughs. ‘Yes, but not for Frankie. Some of my work is legal, you know. I also dance at For Your Eyes Only. You know, the one in town?’

‘I know of it,’ Robin replies.

She laughs again, and he thinks how pretty she is. ‘I get that not many of your friends are strippers.’

Is that what we are? he wonders. Friends? But he doesn’t say anything, just takes a swig from his bottle of beer.

‘I was asking around for you,’ she continues. ‘About your strangulation guy.’ She takes a sip from the glass, then places it on the floor next to the sofa. She undoes the zip down the side of her boots, pulling them off, then curling her feet up under her, making herself comfortable. ‘I thought he might have tried things before. Made use of some of Frankie’s other services.’

‘And?’ Robin asks, curious.