‘I’m DS Lightman,’ Ben said. ‘And this is DC Hanson. I wonder if we could come in?’

The young woman seemed dazed, though they knew she’d been expecting them. The raw redness of the skin under her eyes looked like a sign of recent crying. Perhaps someone in Alex’s family had cared about him.

Phoebe nodded slowly and backed away. She tucked her hands into the ends of her overlong cardigan sleeves as she waited for them to enter and then shut the door behind them.

‘Do you need tea? Anything?’

‘I’m OK, thanks,’ Hanson said, and Ben shook his head too. ‘We stopped off on the way.’

‘Sitting room, then,’ Phoebe said.

‘Are your parents coping all right?’ Hanson asked, as they were led along the varnished wooden floor to one end of the house. It was hopefully an easier question to answer than one about Phoebe’s own grief.

‘I think so,’ Alex’s sister said, pausing very briefly with her hand on the last door. She turned the handle and opened it, letting them into a bright room that had a view of the garden through tall windows. It was all pale colours and long, low sofas. All of it looked, Hanson thought, expensive.

There were a few photos scattered around. Hanson’s eye was caught by a formal family portrait of the Plaskitt family propped up on a bookshelf. It was probably close on twenty years old. Alex was recognisable even as a boy in trousers, shirt and tie. He looked the perfect little heir. Phoebe was starchily dressed and probably somewhere between four and six.

Of particular interest to Hanson was the vision of Alex’s father in what must have been his mid-thirties. He looked so very like Alex looked in his training videos, except with all the warmth taken away. He was unsmiling, and the hand resting on his wife’s shoulder looked heavy.

The wife was very pretty, Hanson thought. Dark-haired and brown-eyed, with skin a lot more tanned than her husband’s. Perhaps of European heritage.

Hanson dragged herself away from the photo and found a seat. Phoebe looked even smaller as she folded herself into an armchair. She must have been a good foot shorter than her brother.

Lightman began as soon as they were seated. ‘We’d really like to know what Alex was like.’

‘Well …’ Phoebe’s eyes moved sideways and it was clear that she was trying not to cry. ‘He was … very kind. Very patient. Hugely into sports, but always … a great sportsman.’

‘So not particularly competitive?’ Hanson said.