‘Lisa Cullen?’ he said into the intercom. ‘DS Romano.’

She buzzed him in without a word.

The communal lobby smelled of lavender carpet cleaner and had the stern, angular appearance of commercial sophistication. It was like walking into a business hotel stripped of all but the essentials, comfortable yet bleak, despite the framed watercolour prints on every wall. He’d visited plenty of similar places when he and Sam got back from France and were looking for somewhere to live. But he’d resisted the call of the many bachelor pads on offer, mainly, he now realized, because of their soulless entrances. Plus all the bloody watercolours.

Craig’s was the middle flat was on the fourth floor. His earnings didn’t run to a split-level attic, or one of the apartments with floor-to-ceiling windows. Still, you’d have to be shifting a fair amount of gear to be paying the rent here.

When the door opened, the face that greeted him was nothing like the one in the photo.

‘Lisa? DS Romano.’

She looked straight past him. Seeing that no one else was there, she threw the door wide open and walked back inside.

When they’d spoken on the phone twenty minutes ago, she’d hardly been able to conceal her irritation, asking if Craig had been arrested, where he was, what he’d done… And they weren’t nervous questions. It was like a lawyer talking, or a minder, as if she knew that she’d be the one sorting everything out, whatever kind of trouble Craig was in.

‘Where is he, then?’

She stood in the middle of the large open-plan living area. She wore tight jeans, faded to an off-white and ripped at both knees. Her loose T-shirt looked like she’d had it on all night, but her longish black hair was brushed. There was none of the dark, severe make-up from the photo. Her face was pale, slightly pasty, and there was an edginess to her, but also something hard and resolute. A toughness that she’d definitely not acquired overnight.

‘This your place?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s in my name.’

‘The motor too?’

‘Motor?’

‘The Beemer Craig hasn’t been using for his work of late.’

‘It needs repairing,’ she said, not a moment’s pause. ‘We haven’t got around to it.’

‘Right, right. And you, you’re studying Media and Communications up at the uni?’

More nodding.

‘OK. You better sit down. I’ve got some bad news.’

She gave a little snort of derision which, just for a moment, made her sound like a petulant child.

‘I’m all right on my feet.’

‘Craig was found dead this morning.’

She froze. Eyes wide, her breathing coming momentarily to a halt. Her mouth remained closed, jaw clenched so hard that he could see the balls of taut muscle in her cheeks.