He awoke early. His eyes puffy, his emotions raw. A low strain of light was drifting in through the gap in the curtains and for a moment he lay in bed, looking at the triangle of asphalt sky. Georgia wouldn’t have wanted this for him. This half of a life. This mess that had become his daily existence.

He got out of bed and walked into the bathroom, opening the cabinet door and taking out a half-used box of Fluoxetine. He pushed two pills out of the packet and downed them with some water. He hadn’t taken them for the best part of a year, but after last night, today seemed the right time to start again.

He had a shower, got dressed in the only clean clothes left, and came here.

He could have done without being at a funeral today. Although, strictly speaking, this isn’t one – Jonathan Miller’s body still being firmly ensconced at the mortuary. It was a strange decision on Amy Miller’s part, holding a memorial prior to the body being released. He wonders what that says about her – guilty or not?

He and Freya stand at the back of the graveyard, watching the mourners arrive. A dreary procession in greys and black, they shuffle slowly into the church. Robin can hear quiet organ music from inside.

A large black BMW pulls up, and Khalid Riaz gets out. Everything about him screams money – from his black wool coat to his crisply creased trousers and shiny leather shoes. He is the opposite of Robin, conscious of the creases in his shirt, the parts of his collar where the seams are starting to wear out.

Freya has put on a better show. She has on a smart black jacket, a neat shift dress underneath. Black tights, high black heels. She looks nice, he has to admit, her long blonde hair loose down her back. She hasn’t said much since they arrived, her face fixed in a stern expression.

Kal walks past them, then double-takes before nodding and moving on without further acknowledgement.

‘I hear you’re leaving me,’ Robin whispers to Freya.

She turns, her mouth open. ‘Baker called,’ Robin continues. ‘Some admin assignment he wants you to work on?’

‘Yeah, sorry,’ she mumbles. ‘It shouldn’t be for long.’

Robin protested down the phone that morning, but Baker was insistent. ‘A few days,’ his DCI said. ‘You’ll cope.’

It was going to be tight, Robin knew, but what could he say? Directive from on high, Freya was only obeying orders. But even though it’s only been just over a week, strangely Robin feels slightly bereft at the thought of her not being around. Like someone else has abandoned him.

‘There’s the sister,’ Freya says, changing the subject and nodding towards the back of a woman in a flowing grey dress, tall and elegant. Robin’s breath catches in his throat.

‘Whose sister?’ he croaks.