‘I doubt it. There are sleeper trains pretty much up to midnight. There’s no way we held them up that long.’

‘Check with them anyway,’ Clare said. ‘They have to be somewhere.’

‘Glasgow cops are on it and I’ve been onto the Met too. They’ll check their London home and workplaces.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Clare, it’s almost nine. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.’ He jerked his head towards the incident room. ‘They’re exhausted. Tony went a couple of hours ago, anyway.’

‘Hah. Why does that not surprise me?’

‘Said he was feeling a bit off.’

‘He always has an excuse.’ She yawned and rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Fair enough, Chris. Let’s call it a day. Back in sharp tomorrow, though.’

Chris left and she took out her phone to send a quick text to the DCI.

Heading home. Pig of a day.

The reply came back a few minutes later.

I’ll have some food ready.

She typed quickly,

Honestly, Al, it’s fine.

Too tired to eat.

She rose from her desk and saw,

Drive safely

X

She put the phone back in her bag and headed out of the station. A solitary reporter stood leaning against his car, smoking. He looked across at Clare and she gave him a noncommittal gesture in return. The sun was low in the sky now, almost setting, and the car lights came on automatically. The roads were quiet and she was soon on her way, blinking away the tiredness. Ten minutes later she turned into the drive at Daisy Cottage and climbed out of the car, bone-weary. The front door opened and Benjy rushed out to greet her. The DCI stood in the door, smiling. He wore a striped apron and had flour on his face.

‘You’ve been cooking,’ she said. ‘Oh, Al. I’m sorry I’m so late.’

‘Don’t you apologise for anything,’ he said, taking her hand and pulling her towards him. ‘You must be worn out.’ He took her jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. ‘I’ve run you a bath. Go on up and I’ll bring some snack food.’

Clare planted a kiss on his lips then she kicked off her shoes and climbed the stairs. A cloud of steam, fragrant and inviting, hung at the bathroom door and she slipped off her clothes, leaving them where they fell.

Minutes later she was up to her neck in warm water being fed slices of homemade pizza by DCI Alastair Gibson.

‘I’ve never eaten pizza in the bath,’ she said, licking tomato sauce off her fingers.

‘The way I make it, it’s the only safe place,’ he said.

‘It is very tomatoey,’ Clare agreed. ‘Absolutely delicious. Did you make this from scratch?’

‘Yep. It’s one of my few talents. Did a cookery course in Italy a few years back.’