We picked our way over rubble. ‘I had a case last month,’ he said. ‘Postman found an old boy locked in a flat. The poor bloke was shivering – no heat in the place, hardly any clothes, covered in bruises. He wouldn’t say a word, but it turned out it was his daughters knocking him about. Never let him out. Kept him for his war pension. Extra few quid. Never used to be like that. Never.’

I looked back at the woman’s battered door. Age was something we couldn’t help, but our families – they were supposed to stay with us. It was so unnatural to be cut off.

We tried more doors, but people had moved around so much – first when the Germans landed at Portsmouth after D-Day, and later when the Soviets had followed and started reassigning homes. Those old communities where people knew everyone in their street had been splintered and no one could help us. ‘Well, that puts the kibosh on that,’ Tibbot sighed.

‘What about the doctor who was given Rachel’s car?’

‘Richard Larren. No address for him, and Kenneth couldn’t find any more details in the records – he even tried the Medical Board, but they’re closed today. I can call them tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow could be too late.’

‘I know, but I can’t see how else to go about it.’

‘Perhaps Nick knew him,’ I said, grasping at straws. ‘Let’s find out.’

At the end of the road there was a pub. It had a wooden telephone booth covered with messages scratched in ink – swear words, names and dates, a childish joke. I called a familiar number and the line was answered immediately.

‘The consulting rooms of Nicholas Cawson. Charles O’Shea speaking.’

‘Charles, it’s Jane Cawson. I have a question. Does my husband ever have any dealings with a Dr Richard Larren?’

‘Richard Larren? Not that I know of.’

‘Can you check?’

‘I’m looking through the addresses file now. There is no Richard Larren listed.’

‘Oh.’ I was disappointed.

‘Who is he?’

I kept it vague so as not to arouse any curiosity. ‘I thought he might be someone who could help get Nick released.’

‘How?’

The truth was that I didn’t even know the answer myself. But if I said nothing, it would only make him more suspicious. ‘I think he can say that Lorelei’s death was an accident.’

Charles paused. ‘He will be in the medical certification directory.’

‘What?’

‘It’s an annual requirement.’