Which was something Jonah had realised for himself, when he’d finally remembered how Issa had struggled to open the front door to receive news of Alex’s death. There had been a set of car keys jamming it, apparently having fallen from the table in the hall, but, in fact, shoved through the letterbox.

‘They were actions of desperation,’ Jonah added, ‘designed to cast doubt if Alex survived, and to frame him if he didn’t.’

‘We also have accounts of the killer talking to Louise Reakes for some time at the club,’ Lightman added. ‘And we’ve placed him at three scenes where other women have been victims of assault.’

‘So you think it’ll be enough for the court?’ Issa asked, his expression suddenly and markedly eager.

‘It’s certainly enough to be conclusive,’ Jonah agreed. ‘Unfortunately Charlie died late last night in circumstances we’re still looking into.’

For a moment Issa looked as though he might crumble again. But then he breathed out a shuddering sigh and said, ‘Good. He deserved to die.’

There wasn’t much more to tell him at this stage. It wouldn’t have been appropriate to explain the events of the night before, so they took their leave. But as they reached the front door, Issa said, ‘Please say thank you. To Louise. For – for comforting him. It means such a lot to know that he didn’t die alone.’

Jonah nodded. ‘I will.’

Hanson finally managed to get some exercise on Sunday, tired though she was from the day before. She ran until she felt wobbly and slightly sick, and enjoyed the sensation hugely.

Lightman messaged her late in the afternoon to suggest they go for a drink. She wondered whether he was just looking out for her, or whether he wanted to talk something through. It was unusual for him to suggest anything sociable.

They met at the Marriott, the same hotel where they’d last had a drink together. It had seemed the natural place, though she then felt awkward at having suggested it. That last drink had been on uncertain terms. She’d never been quite clear whether they’d purely gone as friends.

She took a good look at him as she approached his table. She thought he looked tired. And possibly, just possibly, like he was sad. It was admittedly hard to tell. She’d known cappuccino art that was more expressive than he was. But she decided she was going to be brave and ask him before he had a chance to sidetrack the conversation.

‘How are you?’ she asked, putting her bag down and sitting quickly. ‘How was yesterday? How’s your dad doing?’

Lightman looked up at her and broke into a grin. ‘Do you want me to answer all those at once, or shall I take them one at a time?’