‘Such awful timing, having to deal with this on a hangover,’ Hanson commented, as she started the ignition and began manoeuvring the little car. The steering wheel was painfully cold. She wished the heating worked better. If she turned it on now, it would blow cold air at them and then never really get hot. The only answer was to leave it for a good ten minutes with the engine running and then put it on full blast.

‘It’s horrible,’ Louise agreed in a low voice, and then added in a rush, ‘I don’t know where the hangover ends and the shock starts. I wish he’d, you know … gone somewhere else.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Hanson said. ‘It must feel completely unreal, him turning up like that with no warning.’

Louise nodded, but said nothing else. A short while later, she made a sniffing sound, and when Hanson looked over at her, there were tears tracking down her cheeks.

Saints Close was back to its quiet state, free of ambulances, squad cars and forensic vehicles. In fact, it was quieter than it had been before the flashing blues had arrived. Many of the other cars were now missing. Louise’s neighbours had presumably gone to spend their Saturday afternoons in pilgrimages to the shops or kids’ sports clubs.

Hanson pulled up outside number eleven. There was little to show what had happened here aside from the craze of footprints and trampled snow left by so many crime scene investigators.

‘Thanks for the lift,’ Louise said, and started to lever herself out of the car hurriedly. As she stood, her eyes went to her front gate, and she faltered.

Hanson could well guess what she was imagining. The dead man lying on the grass. Perhaps the screens that had been set up, and the white overalls moving around it all.

Hanson undid her seat belt. ‘I’ll walk to the door with you. It can’t be easy, after …’ She gave a shrug.

Louise paused for a moment, and then said, ‘Thank you.’

Hanson climbed out onto the pavement. She let Louise through the gate first, and then, as she followed, moved to block any view of where Alex Plaskitt had been lying a few short hours ago.

Louise kept her gaze fixed ahead, and unlocked the front door hurriedly. As she pulled the keys back out, she fumbled them and dropped them onto the doorstep with a noisy jangle.

‘Do you need anything?’ Hanson asked, as she picked them up and moved to step into the house. ‘Tea? Company?’

‘I’m … I’m fine,’ Louise said, her face pallid and sick-looking. And then she suddenly lunged forwards, dropping her bag and running for the stairs.

Hanson heard her climb to the first floor and trip. She instinctively stepped forwards to help, but Louise seemed to have recovered and rushed further into the house. ‘Louise?’ she called.