“And maybe it’s just me,”—Hanna had her well, actually face on, the one she got when something struck her as silly or impractical, which things often did—”but while I get that they’re a striking visual on TV, I’ve never quite worked out what those big boards of red string were actually supposed to tell anybody. Apart from, ‘The person who made this has lost it.’”

“I think they’re meant to help you organise your thoughts?”

Hanna slipped off the bed and sat cross-legged opposite Liza. “Tell you what, use me.”

“I know you’re jealous of the podcast.” Liza chanced a smile. “But I don’t think you can seduce me by letting me use your body as a murder board.”

“No, I mean—you know, bounce ideas off me, talk things through. I can be your Dr Watson and say stuff like, ‘But that’s remarkable,’ and, ‘However did you work it out?’” Hanna’s tone was lighter now than it had been in a while, and Liza found herself missing the days when it had been like that more often.

“You’re being silly.”

Hanna was not a pouty person, so she didn’t pout, but she gave a distinct impression of wanting to. “I’m being a good partner who has your back. You just don’t recognise it because, I’ll admit, sidekick isn’t my usual style.”

She was right, Liza hadn’t recognised it. Or hadn’t wanted to. Because part of her still felt that diving headfirst into her girl-detective fantasy was selfish and there was something … not quite shaming, but perhaps at least grounding, about how quickly—relatively speaking, given the real risk of death—Hanna had got onside with it. Just like she’d got onside, insofar as time and her work commitments allowed, with Actual, and with every other weird, artsy project Liza had jumped into before that. Just like she’d always got onside, in her own, slightly heavy-handed, occasionally frustrating, know-it-all kind of way. “All right. How do you want to do this?”

“Well, it’s your investigation. But I’d either go by murder or by suspect?”

For a moment, instead of thinking about crimes, Liza just sat there and looked at Hanna. Really looked at her in a way she hadn’t realised she hadn’t been. And for a moment she saw again the young woman she’d not quite met in that kitchen all those years ago; the woman she’d looked at and said, “If I don’t speak to her this evening, I’ll hate myself for the rest of my life.”