‘Kaitlynn said he’s been bloody awful all day. She reckons he’s finally entering the terrible twos.’

‘So if he’s started late, let’s hope he finishes them early,’ Roy said, peeling off his jacket, loosening his tie and fiddling with the top button of his shirt until he prised it open. ‘We can only hope!’

‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ She grimaced. ‘I’ve been working on the music for Bruno’s funeral.’

He looked solemn. ‘Thanks, that’s great.’

‘I’ve only made a start – I need your help.’

‘Sure.’

‘I’ve been going through Bruno’s Spotify playlists on his laptop.’

‘No password?’

‘I found it on a Post-it stuck to the inside of a drawer in his bedroom.’

‘I’ve always said you’d make a great detective.’ He smiled.

She shook her head. ‘No, I wouldn’t – I have a life.’ She gave him a strange look.

It wounded him. Even more at this moment, when he was about to break the news about his commitment for Thursday night. ‘Hey! Meaning?’

‘You know exactly what I mean. I would never want you to change, I know how much you love your work. I’m not saying it as a criticism, it’s what you are, it’s what makes you the man I married. It’s what makes you the man I love.’

He sat down on the sofa and put an arm around her. ‘You do an incredible job, too, being with people, comforting them at the worst moment in their lives.’

‘Thanks, but I’m worried for how much longer I’ll be able to do that,’ she said. ‘It’s the thing I love most about my job. But new technology is taking that away from me. Nowadays identifying a victim is dealt with mostly by DNA or dental records, and relatives are no longer identifying their loved ones in person. I’d really miss that human contact. It’s always tough. Someone leaves home and drops dead, or is killed in an accident, and I feel a real sense of achievement if I’m able to give the loved ones some crumb of comfort. I’d hate that to be taken away. You’re lucky, in one way, no matter how grim – you’ll always have that human contact.’

Grace mentally skipped over the times when, as a junior copper having to deliver the death message, he’d been punched in the face, had furniture thrown at him, had to try to calm someone lying on the floor screaming, clawing at the air. ‘I guess.’

He bided his time; this wasn’t the moment to tell her that he’d be working Thursday night. ‘Can I hear what you’ve put together on the playlist so far?’

She leaned forward and tapped a couple of keys.

102

Thursday 12 September

On what felt like the longest evening of her life, Eden was a bag of nerves. Riddled with doubts. Thinking how few killers ever actually got clean away with it. There was almost always something, one mistake or one witness or one clever, probing detective who finally got the killer to crack. And even when that didn’t happen, oftentimes killers found themselves tormented by guilt.