‘At the Miller funeral today. Why?’

‘I don’t know, he just…’ Another pause. ‘He doesn’t seem to be doing so well.’

‘He always looks, you know, a mess,’ Freya suggests.

‘Yeah, but more than usual.’ At the other end of the phone, Steph sighs. Freya can hear the hum of a car engine. ‘Have you reviewed the case file yet?’ Steph asks.

‘Yeah, but…’

‘Where are you?’ Steph says. ‘I’m coming to you.’

Freya hangs up and texts Steph her address. Ten minutes later she’s standing on her porch.

Next to Steph, Freya always feels unhealthy and large. Steph screams fitness, from her all-year tan to the way she moves: lithe, with energy. Freya offers her a drink and she refuses, pulling out a bottle of water from her bag – reusable, of course – and an apple, which she takes a bite out of.

If Steph is seeing her sergeant romantically, it seems like a strange match to Freya. Butler doesn’t drink anything that isn’t either alcoholic or caffeinated. Most of his food comes from the vending machine or takeaway shops. Yet Freya knows that women find him attractive. That beaten, melancholy persona, mistaking him for a strong, silent type when in fact he’s just miserable.

Steph sits down at the table, apple still in her hand, and takes a file out of her bag.

‘The medical side of things,’ Steph explains, passing it to Freya.

Freya opens the file and flicks through. She pulls out the post-mortem report. ‘It’s short.’

‘That’s not unusual.’ Steph reaches over Freya and selects a photograph from the pages. She hands it to Freya, who can’t help but gasp. It’s clearly human, but the body’s black, constricted, shrunken. Almost burnt beyond recognition.

‘What was the cause of death?’ Freya asks.

‘Multiple injuries, consistent with given history of road traffic collision.’

‘Had he been drinking?’

‘Inconclusive.’ Steph finishes her apple and stands up, throwing it into the bin from a distance, easily making the shot. ‘Fire burnt everything up. I’ve got the tissue samples, though. I’ll take another look. Our tests have got better since then, more sensitive. They might pick up something new, you never know.’

‘You’re not going to exhume the body?’

‘No,’ Steph scoffs, and Freya feels stupid for asking. ‘Would be even less to find now, and digging up a body is hardly going to keep things below the radar for the coroner.’

‘Do you know what this additional evidence is?’ Freya asks. ‘That caused the coroner to get us to investigate?’

‘No, you?’

‘No.’

Steph shrugs. ‘So we’ll just need to do what we’re told. Take another look at what we have.’

Freya feels the pressure, looking at all the reports, all the mess. Steph, as if sensing her indecision, starts to stack the paperwork into piles.

‘I don’t even know where to start,’ Freya mumbles, helplessly.