Cooper couldn’t answer her, because she began to talk into the phone. He thought about it for a moment, though. No matter how strong-willed and self-sufficient Rose Shepherd had been, she’d still got desperate in the end. So desperate that she’d made a bad mistake.

Then he noticed the webcam picture reloading on his screen. Within the space of thirty seconds, the stretch of promenade he was looking at had become deserted. The people had run for cover, the cars had moved on. Now there was no one at all to be seen in his grey, misty glimpse of Matlock Bath.

In response to a summons, Fry had joined Hitchens in the DCI’s office. Kessen didn’t look happy, despite his attempt to strike a positive note for the enquiry team when he wound up the briefing.

‘Sir, Rose Shepherd wasn’t on someone’s witness protection programme, was she?’ asked Hitchens.

Kessen shook his head. ‘I’ve already asked the question, Paul. But where’s her panic button? Where’s her minder? There’s no sign of anyone ever being in the house with her.’

‘It’s still possible, though.’

‘If she was an individual our intelligence is aware of, we’ll hear back soon enough. If not, one of the phone numbers in her book ought to turn something up. And if that still doesn’t bring anyone running, let’s hope the media coverage does.’

‘It’s like you said yesterday, there must be someone somewhere who’s going to miss her. But there doesn’t seem to be any family, no one to give us the background on her relationships.’

A family liaison officer had been assigned to Brian Mullen and the Lowthers. But in Rose Shepherd’s case, there was no grieving family, no one for an officer to be assigned to.

‘I wonder if I could borrow DC Cooper some time?’ asked Fry. ‘I could use a bit of help on the triple-death fire for a while.’

‘You can have him – once he’s completed his actions on the Shepherd enquiry. He and DC Murfin are going to check the sightings in Matlock Bath.’

‘Perhaps first thing tomorrow morning?’

‘I suppose so, Diane. All being well.’

When Cooper put his jacket on, he noticed some sheets of paper sticking out of his pocket. He pulled them out and unfolded them.

‘Damn you, Matt.’

They were the pages his brother had printed out the previous evening. He must have slipped them into Ben’s pocket when he wasn’t looking.

Cooper threw them down on his desk, intending to put them in the bin later. He walked to the door and opened it. Then he turned, went back to his desk, and picked up the papers. He felt tugged by some sense of obligation, but he wasn’t sure who to. His brother? His mother? Or perhaps to himself, or some unborn generation.