‘A year and a half.’

‘Why did you stay with him?’ The question was asked with such disbelief that Hanson almost laughed.

‘Do you really need me to tell you how abuse works?’ she asked him. ‘How they turn on the full force of their charm every time they apologise, and make you feel like it’s all right now? How when you do break up with them, they find ways of making you feel guilty? They point out all this stuff they are doing “for you”. The therapy sessions that, coincidentally, you are paying for. Do I need to tell you how you defend their behaviour to all your concerned friends and family so many times that you become complicit in it?’

‘But you’re smart,’ he argued, stopping, and turning towards her. ‘Surely you could see through him.’

‘Like you did?’ Hanson asked.

There was a very long silence, as Jason looked into the distance somewhere. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just … I didn’t see any reason not to believe him, when he said it.’

‘Except for four months of getting to know me better than anyone else,’ she said, quietly, and turned to continue walking.

O’Malley had stocked up well on breakfast materials. He liked to complain bitterly about stake-out duty whenever it cropped up, but he generally used it as an excuse to treat himself to unhealthy food. As a result, he almost looked forward to it.

Today’s haul had come courtesy of the Greggs in the petrol station, which had the good sense to be open from seven. He’d arrived at Saints Close just before his clocking-on time equipped with everything he needed for a long stint. The blinds and curtains in the Reakes house were still drawn.

Having eaten one sausage roll and a chocolate croissant, it was clear that he was going to have to vacuum the car later on. But it had been well and truly worth it.

There was still no sign of movement by nine. O’Malley guessed that musicians weren’t required to be up all that early. He was quite happy with that situation, as it meant he got to drink coffee and mull pleasantly on his upcoming holiday to Morocco. He was holding out for that week of sunshine.

The daydreaming was rudely interrupted at ten past nine by the arrival of a metallic blue Corsa. So Issa was back. O’Malley wondered what his business was, and whether it was by arrangement.

Issa parked right outside number eleven, seemingly unaware of O’Malley’s Astra perched on the kerbside opposite. He climbed out with the look of a man on a mission and strode up to the door.