Beth nods. ‘A man walked past when I was calling them; I thought he was going to stop and help, but when I looked around, he’d gone.’

‘And they say chivalry’s dead,’ DC Stone murmurs.

‘The woman I spoke to asked me all these questions, whether he was breathing, if he was in the recovery position; I did what I could, but I was shaking all over.’ She shudders and isn’t sure whether it’s the cold air or the memory of kneeling down next to the man that’s causing it. The image is still so clear in her mind. His wiry beard, red-raw cheeks and rotten teeth. How badly he smelt. And she had to touch his skin, check his pulse, bend close enough to listen for breath. A wave of nausea rises with the image and Beth tries to ride it by imagining stepping into a scalding-hot shower. She scratches her left palm.

‘That must have been very difficult for you,’ the detective surmises in a low voice.

The tears are threatening again and she’s so tired that she’s not sure she can stop them escaping this time. She hears her tone harden a notch. ‘DC Stone, I want to help, but I really don’t know anything else. I’m tired, and I’d love to go home.’

‘Of course, I understand,’ he says, but his body doesn’t move, and Beth knows she’s not free yet. ‘Just a couple more questions, then I’ll get one of the uniforms to run you back.’

Beth thinks about turning down the offer of a lift, her house is only ten minutes away on foot, and a neighbour might notice her getting out of a police car. Like Saskia with her nocturnal habits and eagle eyes. But she’s frozen solid and the thought of a warm vehicle is enticing. ‘Thank you,’ she says, surrendering. ‘But I’m really not sure what I can add.’

‘You mentioned that you live on this road. And it looks like the deceased might have been squatting in this property. I wondered whether you’d seen him before tonight? Or anyone else coming or going?’