‘Sorry, Zelda, of course. DI Archer, please come inside.’

Quinn follows his neighbour into the flat opposite as Archer enters his. The décor is unashamedly 1970s working-class chic. Patterned and peeling orange wallpaper matched with a floral carpet woven in shades of brown, blue and red makes her eyes blink. She enters the living room and is pleasantly surprised at the breathtaking vista across Kennington Park and South London.

The room has little in the way of furniture: an old leather Chesterfield sofa, a pine dining table and chairs, a modern medium-sized flatscreen television and a games console. On the table is half-full bottle of bourbon and several squeezed lemons. Archer feels a knot tighten in her stomach as she recalls what Hicks said that morning about Quinn having a heavy night.

Has Quinn been sleeping off a hangover?

Leaning against the bottle is a dog-eared photograph. She picks it up. The picture shows a happy family scene on a beach with Quinn and a fair-haired woman and a smiling boy in between them. Looking around she sees no evidence of anyone else living here other than Quinn and she assumes he is separated from them.

She hears the front door closing and places the picture back on the table.

‘I’ll get a shower and we can go,’ says Quinn.

‘Go where?’

‘We have a killer to catch.’

Archer glances at the bourbon and lemons.

‘They’ve been sitting there for three days. I’m a bit behind with my house chores.’

‘Why did you not show up for work this morning?’

Quinn looks away. ‘I had other things on my mind.’

‘What other things?’

‘Personal stuff, ma’am. I’d just rather not talk about it right now.’

‘Harry, we are thin on the ground with people. We all have personal problems. I need someone I can rely on.’

Quinn rubs his neck. ‘I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll make up the time, I promise.’

Archer can see that Quinn is troubled but all the same can’t help but feel let down. ‘Do you need time off? I can get Hicks to fill in for you.’

Quinn arches his eyebrows. ‘I would not inflict that on anyone. Give me five.’

She hears the shower running, followed by a knocking at the front door. After a moment of deliberation, she answers it.

Zelda Frutkoff is standing outside holding a small casserole dish. Archer can smell garlic and tomatoes.

‘Breakfast,’ she says, entering the flat as if it is her own. She makes her way to the living room and places the dish on the table.

‘Are you hungry?’ she asks.

‘No, thank you.’

‘You could do with putting on a few more pounds.’

‘Thank you. I’ll bear that in mind,’ replies Archer with a flat tone.

‘There’s plenty if you change your mind.’ The neighbour disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later and setting the table for one.