Hanson shook her head. ‘They aren’t Facebook friends or following each other on anything, and it doesn’t look like Louise was a client of Alex’s. But his online presence is actually pretty interesting.’ She swung her screen round to face him square on, showing a still of Alex Plaskitt’s face from one of the videos. He was caught grinning at the camera, his mouth half open as if he’d been in the middle of speaking. ‘Alex is a minor vlogging celebrity. Twelve thousand subscribers, so not huge. He seems to use it in part as a way of drumming up business, and in part to inspire people to become active.’

‘So he had a chance of being recognised while out,’ Sheens said, thoughtfully.

‘Yes, and some of these are interesting.’ She scrolled down to the comments on the video, letting her mouse rest on a comment from someone called S88*burger, whose comment was five homophobic slurs in a row.

‘Are there more like this?’ the DCI asked.

‘Quite a few. There are a few other videos that feature Issa briefly, or where he talks about him. They attract quite a bit of attention. But most of the accounts seem to be throwaways.’

The DCI’s phone rang, a summons from the pathologist to attend the post mortem. There was a nervous twist to Hanson’s stomach as Sheens glanced around at his team. She’d managed one post mortem in her career so far, and knew she would survive another one if necessary. But that wasn’t to say that she would ever feel positive about them.

Sheens’s eye eventually fell on Lightman, and Hanson slid away to make coffee with a slightly shameful sense of relief. She was safe for today, free to dig into the murky world of internet trolls.

Louise waited until the door to the interview room was shut before she opened up her contacts list. Her thumb hesitated over Niall’s name. It was right at the top, with a star next to it. Her favourite. Her husband. God, she didn’t want to do this.

But it was like pulling off a wax strip, she thought. It might sting at the time, but it was never as bad as you imagined.

Which was a shit analogy, she realised. Because this might turn out to be infinitely worse than she’d imagined. The stripping away might never stop.

As she hesitated, her phone buzzed. April, sending another message of support, and obeying her request to text instead of calling.

I can’t even imagine how awful that must be. I’m so sorry! I want to call so let me know as soon as you’re out of there, OK? I have the mother of all hangovers but I’m here. Xx

It was a good message to read before dealing with her husband. Unquestioningly supportive. Kind. Normal.