‘Stop there, Charlie. Christopher Eliot works for Fenham and Bright. Treat the car as a crime scene and don’t let anyone close to it, but don’t call in the CSIs until I’ve spoken to the man. Watch him come in to work, and only stop him if he tries to leave.’ Then she remembered he’d been up all night. ‘I’ll get Holly to relieve you.’

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Don’t bother. I can hang on for as long as it’ll take you to get here.’

‘But I’m not coming straight to the Tyne valley. I’ve got to see Morgan first. I need to get a few facts straight before I have a go at the Eliots.’ She was already dressing, rooting in the drawers for clean underwear, deciding that the skirt she’d had on the day before would be fine. Just as well Crimplene didn’t crease. No time for a shower. All the way south she was on the phone, using the hands-free kit she’d transferred into Hector’s Land Rover, choosing that over her own car because she thought it would make it better through the flood.

At first she thought Michael Morgan had done a runner. The curtains to the flat were still closed and though it was still too early for his clinic to open, she’d have expected some sign of life. She’d imagined him and Freya breakfasting on organic muesli and yoghurt after an hour’s yoga. Whale calls as background music.

She banged on the door, aware of neighbours looking from windows across the street. They’d remember her from the night before. Any minute now they’d be calling the police. Neighbourhood Watch would be big in Tynemouth. It was that sort of place. Just as she was thinking she’d cut her losses and head straight off to meet up with Charlie, she heard footsteps on the stairs and the door was opened.

She saw immediately that Morgan had been drinking. Maybe all night, or maybe he’d had a couple of hours’ sleep and woken up with a hangover that hadn’t quite kicked in yet because he was still pissed. She was an expert. He was wearing loose jogging pants and a hooded sweater and he stank of alcohol and sweat.

‘My God, man, I thought you were into clean living.’ She pushed the door further open and he stumbled back a little before following her upstairs. She drew the curtains and opened windows at both ends of the room. There was an empty vodka bottle on the floor, a tumbler beside it. Without speaking, she went into the kitchen and made two mugs of instant coffee.

‘Did Freya buy this?’ She held up the jar of Fair-trade instant and shook it at him. ‘You’re into the real stuff, aren’t you? You and Danny Shaw were both snobby about your coffee.’

‘Freya’s gone,’ he said.