“Oh, yeah? Well, I’ve never heard him say it. If you must know, Mother has never even approved of me being in the Force, when I was in uniform she used to make me take my bloody hat off so the neighbors would know it was me! But Pam, oh, Pam could never do anything wrong, all she’s done is produce children at such a rate she looks ten years older than she should . . .”

Peter sighed and chucked his coat on the bed. Jane’s followed, so hard that it flew across the room. She kicked off her shoes and sat down grumpily on the bed.

“Actually,” said Peter, “it was quite funny, watching you and your dad, with Torville and whatsit whizzing round on the screen . . .”

Jane grinned like the sun coming out. “He’s never got the hang of that video recorder. He taped bits of a football match over Pam’s wedding film . . .” She giggled and hummed a snatch of Here Comes the Bride, then shrieked, “Goal!”

She threw herself back on the bed, laughing hysterically, while Peter stood shaking his head in wonder at her sudden change of mood.

“I’m going to have a drink,” he said.

“Great, me too, and make it a large one!”

When Peter brought their drinks to the bedroom he found Jane glued to the TV screen as the opening theme of Crime Night faded into Brian Hayes’s voice.

“I only want to see myself, I’m sure that make-up they put on me looked appalling.”

She wound the film forward and stopped it; Peter heard her recorded voice. At the same moment the phone rang in the hall. Jane jumped to her feet and hurried to answer it. Peter sat on the bed and sipped his Scotch, watching Jane on the program sitting a little stiffly, but looking very calm and together. The screech that emanated from the hall could hardly be anything to do with that cool woman on screen . . .

She banged open the door, fist in the air. ‘We’ve got a witness who called in after the program. She says she saw Karen Howard picked up by a man. She says the man kenw her, because she’s sure he called her name . . . And, Pete, the description, she described bloody George Marlow!”

Her fist shot into the air again. “We got him! We got him, Pete!”

Pete held up her drink. “You wanted to see your performance? Well, you’re missing it.”

“Sod that, I’m gonna pick him up tonight.”

Peter looked surprised and glanced at his watch. “Tonight? Are you going to the station?”

“You’re kidding, I’m on my way right now . . .”

It was a while before she did leave; there were hurried phone calls while she was changing her clothes. She wiped the make-up off and gave Peter a perfunctory kiss, then grabbed her bag and bleeper and was gone.