She knew it could be nothing, even now. Jason could have read her message and forgotten to reply. She did that, sometimes, only to be told off for it later. But this was Jason. The man who always messaged back, and dropped her a line at bedtime. Which meant something was really wrong.

Ben seemed to be oblivious to her mood, thankfully. He climbed equably out of the car, stretched his shoulders slightly, and began to amble back up the road towards the green. As Hanson caught him up, pulling her scarf up as high as it would go to protect herself from the wind, he said, ‘I wonder if she walked this way often during daylight hours. Louise Reakes, I mean. You’d probably avoid going across a deserted area at one a.m. in the normal run of things. But if it was a frequently used route and she was drunk, she might default to it.’

‘Yes,’ Hanson said. Then she added, ‘She looks like someone who runs. Could be a route she uses for that.’

Lightman gave her a sidelong look. ‘Do I look like someone who runs?’

‘Probably.’ She glanced at him. ‘Do you not run?’

‘Only under duress,’ he said. ‘If there are no pools open anywhere, or tennis courts or anything.’

Hanson shook her head, trying to bring some kind of banter to mind now that it seemed to be back on the menu. But she felt as though it had been drained out of her, and she wondered, suddenly, whether this feeling really had anything to do with Jason, or whether it was just the long-term effect of Damian’s persistent presence in her life. Whether she’d actually just reached some kind of breaking point.

They crossed the Avenue, the two-lane road that described a long, thin loop like a racing circuit. Asylum Green sat in its centre, a narrow strip of park land that bulged at its southern tip. Linda McCullough’s scientific support vehicle was parked up at the bottom, near the green’s widest point. She emerged from the driver’s door, white-clad and ready for business. A male assistant climbed out of the other side and gave them a nod.

‘What are we looking at?’ McCullough asked.

Lightman glanced at Hanson, and she realised he was letting her do the talking.

‘Thanks for coming so quickly,’ she said, grateful that her voice seemed to sound normal in spite of everything. ‘We’re looking for evidence of some kind of attack on our suspect. I’ve been looking at routes. If she crossed the green, it’s likely to have been at this end. She would have emerged from London Road, and it’s likely she’d cut across the diagonal path to get onto the far side of the Avenue.’