I check the references we received from her old landlord, but there is nothing there that sheds any light. We send out a tick-box form, a simple yes-or-no answer sheet. Has this tenant ever fallen behind with their rent? Have there ever been any disputes with this tenant? Is there any reason you would advise against letting a property to them?

For each question the answer is no. Ms Jones has never caused anyone any difficulties. She has never fallen late with rent or caused concern, until now. The only thing seems to be how frequently she moved, but then this is London and people who rent move all the time, so is it really that strange?

I have already given all of this information to the police and no matter how many times I flip through the pages or scroll through the information on the computer file, there is nothing else. I try to pull myself together. Despite the lump in my throat, I need to think logically, work methodically. I dig out the neat square of paper that I wrote it down on and call the number for PC Delliers, telling myself that I’m only following Abayomi’s protocol, chasing up details so that we can move things forward.

It takes a few rings before she picks up, and when she does she sounds distracted and breathless.

‘Yes? Hello?’

‘PC Delliers? This is Jennifer Arden … the housing manager … the one who was there when they found Ms Jones?’

A muffled pause, as though she is speaking to someone else in the background, then her voice comes back on the line, a little louder.

‘Yes?’

‘I just wanted … wanted to ask … Did you find her proper next of kin?’

‘What? Oh, you mean – no, no luck, I’m afraid.’

‘“No luck”? But then … do you understand yet what happened?’

‘Jennifer, I’m sorry, I’m not on that case any more. They needed me over in … Never mind. I think … the Munroe House case … They had no reason to pursue it, I think? No evidence of foul play? I guess she was just a lonely kind of person, kept to herself, died alone. They will have referred the case up to the coroner, but the police investigation will be closed now I think. And the local authority will be dealing with the funeral.’

I can’t stop her words from stabbing: Kept to herself, died all alone. It makes my whole body shudder. ‘Closed?’

The muffled background conversation again.

‘I’m sorry Jennifer, I have to go. Was there anything else? Did you have any other information?’

‘I … No. No, I don’t have anything. It’s just … it’s been quite hard—’

‘Well … Oh – I can send you a leaflet on victim support if you need it. You were there when they found her – I remember now. If that has been difficult for you, there is support you can access, if you feel you’re struggling …’