That made Ira laugh. She put the side of her face against his shoulder, brought her knees up on to the couch and closed her eyes for a while. She felt absolutely beat.

Five minutes later, her pager started buzzing.

‘Shit,’ she said quietly, sitting up.

‘Just leave it,’ Ira replied.

She thought about it for a moment, about all the reasons not to haul herself up off the couch and see what Lieutenant Hayesfield wanted now, but then she set down her plate, kissed Ira on the cheek by way of an apology and retrieved her pager.

But it wasn’t Hayesfield.

It was Bennett, one of the detectives who worked the graveyard shift. She liked him about as much as she liked Greg Landa; they were both misogynists, it was just Bennett – in his fifties and newly divorced – never bothered trying to hide it. He wasn’t snide and devious like Landa; he was uncomplicated, wearing his lasciviousness like a badge. She went through to the phone in the bedroom and then paused, taking a long, preparatory breath before punching in the number.

Bennett answered after three rings.

‘Ben, it’s Jo Kader.’

‘Kader. What you up to tonight?’

‘Not much.’

‘I bet you were snuggling up to your man, right?’

‘It’s way too hot for that, Benny.’

‘Too hot? What, for a young woman like you?’

‘I got your page,’ she said by way of a response.

Bennett audibly sighed, as if she’d disappointed him.

‘A guy just phoned for you,’ he said, abruptly.

‘Who was he?’

‘Some cop from the LAPD.’

She frowned. ‘The LAPD? What did he want?’

‘He wants you to call him.’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I got that part. But did he say what about?’

‘It’s about your bathtub case.’

That stopped her. ‘What about it?’

‘He reckons he knows who your killer is.’

18

The Perrys’ house seemed quieter than ever.

We stayed where we were at the front door for a moment, looking along the hallway towards the kitchen, and then took off our shoes – using the softness of the carpet to our advantage – and split up: Healy headed upstairs; I went through to the living room.

I didn’t move furniture, didn’t touch anything for now, I simply looked, only climbing on to the sofas at the end of my search, to peer along the upper edges of picture frames and the tops of dusty bookcases. I couldn’t see anything suspicious, but the wall cavity in which we’d found the hard drive was on this side of the house, and if it was wired up to some other device – perhaps more than one – the wires either had to come through here, or through the bedroom above me.

I looked again.