He tried to smile. ‘I’m off to the Greyhound in Tong this evening. The pub. You know, the one in the Twitter photo?’

‘I know it.’

A pause.

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what kind of copper do you think I am?’

She blew out an exasperated sigh.

‘No,’ he added. ‘Put it another way. What kind of copper do you think I think you are?’

‘Jesus!’

‘Go on. What do I think about you? Tell me.’

He watched as an uncharacteristic nervousness spread across her kind, round face. A motherly face, he reckoned, though she claimed to hate kids.

‘We’ve been working together for next to no time,’ she said, ‘but for what it’s worth, I reckon you know that I’ve got your back. I mean, you trust me, right?’

He nodded.

‘What have you got in that folder, Rita?’

‘Folder?’

‘It’s a metaphor. It’s all on pen drives now. Servers, clouds, whatever.’

‘Your point?’

‘You know my point. What have you got for me? ’Cos I bet it’s the same as I’ve got for you.’

‘You show me yours, I’ll…’

‘Christine Saunders.’

She relaxed a little.

‘You met her in the library on Saturday, Joe. You logged it on the system. Then you met her on Sunday, and you logged that as well, including notes, despite all the shit on social media. Then you met her again yesterday, outside the library in Cleckheaton. You logged that an hour ago, for Christ’s sake. Gwyn’s pretty sharp, y’know?’

‘Gwyn?’

‘He’s handling things at your end, if you hadn’t noticed. He’d been going over the investigation. Doesn’t miss much, our Gwyn. Apparently, you ordered a load of background stuff on her when you were pissed. So, he’s thinking, either you’re a meticulous pervert, or…’

‘He’s been looking at the file?’

‘On Saunders? Yes. We both have. Thought we should, y’know, since you’re otherwise involved with her…’

‘I’m not, as it happens. But I have been looking into her.’

‘Ironically,’ she said, ‘I do have all this in a folder. Print-outs. I read them all last night, late on, in bed.’

She began a story that Joe didn’t need to hear, because he’d read the same story, assembled by data support at Elland Road and copied across to the investigation hub by Gwyn Merchant.

Christine Saunders had been a senior accountant at Asda’s head offices in Leeds. At thirty-three she was earning more than a Deputy Chief Constable, she was married to a management consultant at Accenture and they were living in a leafy north Leeds suburb with their young son. Within a matter of months she had none of those things.

‘The accident report?’ Rita said.

‘I almost couldn’t.’

‘I know. I cried. I just cried when I read it.’