At the top of the steep, narrow staircase was a small bedroom. A few items of casual clothing strewn about, the bed unmade, a cheap radio alarm clock on the floor. No wardrobe, no drawers or shelves. Not even a bedside table. He didn’t have time to poke around. Somebody would be giving it a thorough going-over later in the day, not that there was much to go over. It did confirm what he already suspected, though: Craig might crash here from time to time, but he didn’t live here.

‘I’m OK,’ she said as he retook his seat on the sofa opposite her. ‘I’m all right now.’

He took out his notebook. With as much haste as seemed respectful he went through the standard questions. Form-filling, fact-checking, like a delivery clerk ticking off an order.

‘His address, please.’

She dithered, trying to get her eyes to focus.

‘Come on. Where does he really live? We need an address.’

Still she hesitated, playing innocent, even now, with her son lying dead in a police morgue. But why?

‘Where does Lisa fit into this?’ he added. ‘Were they…’

He stopped, as Jane Shaw’s body jerked forwards and vomit sprayed out onto the carpet. It wasn’t much. Bile and a few sips of sweet tea. He waited five… ten seconds as she steadied herself.

‘Clean that up later, eh?’ he said, handing her a tissue, but meeting her frightened stare with a steely seriousness. ‘I need something to go on, Jane. Give me an address. And the rest. Let’s have it now. Then I’ll go and find who did this. You all right with that?’

It came out of her as fast as the vomit. A babbling gush of relief. The address, the fact that Lisa was his girlfriend, that the BMW was registered in Lisa’s name, ditto the flat in the city centre where they lived.

‘And they’ve been threatening him,’ she said.

‘Who?’

She shook her head until her jowls quivered.

‘Phone calls, disgusting letters, telling him to stop.’

Joe was writing it down as fast as he could, notebook balanced on a knee. With his other hand he called the operations room.

‘And why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?’ he asked, waiting for someone to answer.

‘’Cos they said if he went to the coppers, they’d find out.’

He stood up, moved into the hallway and began relaying short, precise instructions. A team to look at Craig Shaw’s flat, his finances, his movements, known associates; another one to focus on Jane Shaw, from every angle, including a house search, a detailed interview, background, finances; meanwhile, a CCTV team was already gearing up to trawl traffic cameras close to the crime scene, and their remit was now broadened to include the BMW and the address of a flat in central Leeds.