‘I think the expression is “hangry”, ma’am. I haven’t eaten in twelve hours.’

‘Me neither. Let’s fix that. I know I should eat, but a corpse and bloody dismembered fingers can screw up a girl’s appetite.’

‘I’m trying to erase that image from my mind.’

‘Sorry . . .’

‘Don’t be. The thing is I really fancy right now is sausages. Do you think there is something wrong with me?’

‘Quite possibly,’ smiles Archer.

‘I know a place close to the office that is just about to open. We can eat there quickly and then head back to the madness.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

Archer’s mind turns back to Hamilton. His voicemail and follow-up text puzzled her. She takes out her phone and looks at his message.

Dear Grace, as per our last conversation please tell me when we can meet. I’m getting grief from my editor. Mike

What the hell was that about? Did he mean that piece-of-shit article he wrote? Why on earth would she give feedback on that? Even if her life depended on it she would never talk to Hamilton. She exhales and drops the phone back into her coat pocket.

Fifteen minutes later they are sitting at a table in the window of Café Verona, an Italian greasy spoon situated under the shadow of a monstrous 1970s block that is presently a Travelodge.

Archer taps her phone on the edge of the plastic table and thinks. Something is bugging her but she can’t put her finger on it. She senses Quinn watching her as her mind forages for the missing piece of the puzzle, and then it comes to her. It’s her phone. When the moped phone thief tossed it away, there was no sim card inside. She hasn’t made the connection until now.

‘Shit!’

‘What’s up?’ asks Quinn.

Archer hesitates before answering. ‘Mike Hamilton had been trying to contact me. He wanted info on the case and other information from my past.’

Quinn listens and she is grateful he doesn’t press her about her history. She assumes he already knows, as most people do. After all, there are a dozen articles on the Internet, including one ropey true crime podcast.

‘I ignored his texts and calls because he’s the last person I’d talk to about my private life.’

She explains about the moped rider who stole her phone, opens her message and slides the phone across to him.

Quinn reads the message. ‘Is that your personal phone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you certain that the phone the moped rider tossed to the ground was yours?’

‘It was broken but it looked like mine.’ Archer has a sinking feeling. ‘The sim was missing.’

‘Then it’s possible the thief got lucky and switched phones. Smartphones contain banking, credit cards and links to apps with your credit card details. The right person can easily download hacking software from the Internet.’