They ran for their cars after that. Jonah started up the Mondeo and watched his two sergeants manoeuvre their way out of the close before he eased out into the road ahead of Hanson. Policing was, as Jojo frequently liked to tell him, a very carbon-intensive job.

The traffic was on the verge of becoming busy by the time Jonah drew up outside Alex Plaskitt’s house. It was on Alma Road, barely a mile from where Alex had died.

Jonah always found this part of the city disorientating. Like the Polygon, across town, most of the streets here looked basically the same, with identikit pairs of semi-detached houses set close to the road, each of them red-brick and touched with white details.

They were definitely a step down the ladder of affluence from Saints Close, but Jonah infinitely preferred the effect of these older, more modest buildings. Many of the owners on this side of the road had filled their tiny walled front gardens with brightly coloured garden furniture and pots. In today’s snow they looked Christmas-card pretty.

Hanson followed him up to the front door, looking less nervous than he had expected. This was only the second time his detective constable had broken the news of a death. Assuming, of course, that Alex’s girlfriend actually lived here. The messages seemed to suggest so.

Having to give the worst news possible was gruelling, and it never really stopped being gruelling. You just found ways of distancing yourself.

Hanson seemed to have clocked some of those quickly. She was looking methodically at each detail of the house and street, noting it all, and clearly keeping her mind off what was about to come.

Jonah rang the old-fashioned push-button bell, and immediately heard rapid sounds from within the house. The door opened with some difficulty. It made a sliding sound and jammed, and whoever was behind it apologised.

When it finally opened, it was to reveal a fairly short, lightly built man of thirty or so, who was in the process of returning some car keys to the top of the hall table. He was dressed quite formally for this early on a Saturday, in an open white shirt with a subtle stripe, and a pair of stone-washed jeans. Dark, tired eyes. Black hair gelled until it stood up. A bronze complexion.

He put his left hand up to the door frame, and Jonah saw that there was a wedding band on his fourth finger.

Issa, Jonah thought, unsure why he had assumed Alex’s partner would be a woman.

The dark gaze darted between him and Hanson, and Jonah said quietly, ‘I think this is Alex Plaskitt’s house.’

Jonah saw the almost non-reaction he had grown used to. The stillness of Issa’s body, and the very slight brightening of his eyes.

‘Would you be Issa?’ Jonah tried next.

‘Yes. What is it?’

‘Might we come in?’ Jonah asked.