‘We need to go back there and talk to the staff and see if they recall anyone suspicious on that day.’

DC Phillips appears at Klara’s doorway. ‘Ma’am, do you know a Victoria Dunmore-Watson?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘She’s on the phone and is in a right state. She said she’s been passed from pillar to post since yesterday.’

‘What does she want with me?’

‘She says she is Jamie Blackwell’s PA. She says you and Jamie know each other and that I was to tell you immediately that Jamie has been mugged and kidnapped.’

‘Why does she think that?’

‘Mr Blackwell was on his way to meet a client, apparently, somewhere near Ealing, when his phone went dead after what sounded like a struggle.’

‘Did uniform not respond?’

‘Yes, but Miss Dunmore-Watson doesn’t know where in Ealing this alleged attack took place. She says he’s been missing for a day and insists he’s been kidnapped. Please could you talk with her, ma’am? She’s doing my head in.’

‘Of course.’

A wave of relief passes over Phillips’ face and Archer wonders what she has let herself in for. She follows Phillips back to her desk and picks up the phone.

‘Miss Dunmore-Watson, this is Detective Inspector Archer.’

‘God, you took your time. Jamie is probably lying dead in some horrid ditch or being held to ransom by terrorists, or something.’ Dunmore-Watson’s voice is trembling with agitation.

‘I’m sure Jamie is just fine.’

‘How can you know that? I heard it.’

‘What did you hear?’

‘There was someone else there. Jamie fell and dropped his phone. I called his name but he didn’t respond. Then someone picked up the phone. I could hear them breathing. It wasn’t Jamie. I’m sure of it.’

‘Perhaps he’s home now. Why not try calling him there?’

‘He’s not home! Something’s happened to him. What is it you’re not understanding!’

Archer hears voices shouting across the office and sees Quinn and the rest of the team in Klara’s hub huddled around her computers. Quinn is beckoning to her with an urgent expression.

She mouths ‘one second’ at him.

‘Oh my God!’ cries Victoria Dunmore-Watson.

Something in her tone chills Archer.

‘Miss Dunmore-Watson . . .’

‘Facebook,’ she replies. ‘He’s streaming live on Facebook.’

Archer feels her stomach twisting. She watches the grave expressions on her colleagues’ faces as they watch the screens in front of them. Quinn looks up from the screen and meets her gaze, his eyes wide.

‘I’ll call you back, Victoria.’

‘Wait! Don’t you hang up on me!’

Archer drops the phone and hurries to the hub. On the screens are three different Facebook feeds, each broadcasting the same scene but from different angles. There are three tall and broad vitrines filled with liquid.

There are no bodies yet inside.