Beth face stretches into another smile and freezes. She’s been half expecting this question, but now it’s arrived she’s not quite sure how to answer it. Because she has seen him before tonight, sitting against the shop’s front window, or just wandering around, clearly high, scaring the children. And she may have uttered the odd word under her breath. There have been conversations with neighbours too, the collective tutting and sighing about the presence of squatters on their affluent street. She even emailed the residents’ association a couple of weeks ago to see if they could track down the owners of the shop (Delphine’s used to sell French haute couture until everyone transitioned to joggers). But she feels bad about that now, after what’s just happened. And it’s not like it’s relevant to the man’s death.

‘Not that I can think of,’ she says, hoping that the white lie doesn’t show on her face.

‘Okay, well—’ A noise bursts out of the shop, followed by a muffled shout. ‘Excuse me,’ DC Stone says, twisting his body. Beth watches him run inside; his shoulders hunched, ready for action. The paramedics have left now, the body too, so Beth’s alone in the darkness. She eyes the hill opposite; her house is up there. She’s told the detective everything she knows, and the police have clearly got their hands full inside the shop. She should just go home. She wonders if her legs will defrost if she moves them.

The noise gets louder, the shouting clearer, and Beth can’t help turning to look. Four people went into the shop but five are coming out, and one of them is in handcuffs. He’s more boy than man.

‘Fucking pigs! I was fucking sleeping!’ he screams, his voice slurring from drowsiness or alcohol. He’s tall and skinny, with a mess of curls leaking out from a black beanie. ‘You can’t fucking arrest me!’ he continues shouting. ‘This place is commercial property! Don’t you know the fucking law, Plod? And where’s Jon? Have you nicked him too?’ He dances clumsily towards the street as DC Stone holds his wrists behind his back with one hand and his shoulder with the other, trying to move him forward in as straight a line as possible.

‘We found three wraps of heroin, mate. I know that’s against the law,’ the other detective says, walking next to him, his bored tone showing this kind of chat isn’t new to him.

‘That’s not mine! I don’t do smack. Do I look like a junkie?’

‘Were you living in that shop?’

‘I was having a kip inside an empty building because it’s fucking arctic out here!’ He pauses for a moment, then tilts his head and glares in Beth’s direction. ‘What are you staring at, lady?’