She will have to make arrangements for Quinn to cover for her. There is nothing else to be done. To avoid missing any more time Archer redoubles her efforts and works through the night. During this time, she oversees the release of Kevin Furlong and John Tighe, who are no longer suspects. She catches up with paperwork and watches images of Elaine Kelly, Chau Ho and Megan Burchill, the so-called Marshland Martyrs, go viral across the globe. To make matters worse, repugnant Internet memes with humorous captions are popping up all over social media.

The following morning, she sends a text to Quinn telling him that she is en route to Jackie Morris’s house, having called Jackie last night and agreed to visit first thing. Quinn responds with a message that he is meeting with a mate from SOCO for an update on the Kelly flat.

It’s standing room only in the Tube carriage, which is full of sneezing and coughing commuters wrapped in coats, scarves and hats. There is a strong smell of damp wool and wet leather mixed with an overpowering mint and clove decongestant that Archer detests.

Jackie Morris lives in a two-up, two-down council house that looks more like an upturned oversized shoebox. Archer rings the bell and hears a young woman’s voice bellowing upstairs. It’s followed by the sound of a child shouting and then a second who starts singing a Disney song that Archer recognises but can’t place.

The door opens to a harassed-looking woman with pale skin and dark hair.

‘Jackie, hello, I’m Detective Inspector Grace Archer.’ Archer shows her warrant card.

‘Hi, sorry. Come in. I’m trying to get the twins ready for school. Doesn’t help that one of their friends was here for a sleepover and all they want to do is play.’

Archer smiles and enters.

The TV is showing Sky breakfast news. The anchor is discussing the murders with an ex-police officer and, of all people, an art historian. Archer notices Jackie’s face go pale. ‘You can’t escape it. I can’t watch anymore,’ she says, and switches off the television, much to Archer’s relief. ‘Is there any word on where Jordan might be?’

‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing yet.’

‘Poor little thing. I hope to God he’s OK. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘That would be perfect. Thank you.’