‘If you say so. Anyway, we got along and soon became friends. We were both outsiders, which helped.’

‘Did you know she wanted to transition?’

‘She was becoming increasingly remote and I knew something was up. I thought she might be gay but never once suspected she was desperate to transition. I’m glad she did. She has been so much happier and confident since. I’m glad she’s working with us. We’re lucky to have her.’

*

Archer and Quinn wait in the reception area of Conservative Party Headquarters in Westminster where Melanie Suskind works as a campaign manager.

‘According to DCI Pierce’s notes Suskind was the last person to have contact with Faulkner. They had an argument,’ Archer tells Quinn.

‘I saw that. The neighbours said they were always at it.’

‘Possibly not as reformed as some wish he was.’

‘This might be her,’ says Quinn.

Archer turns to see a woman in her mid-thirties wearing a fitted blue-and-white houndstooth dress. Her hands are pressed together and Archer can see the whites of her knuckles.

‘Hello, I’m Melanie Suskind.’

‘Thank you for meeting with us at such short notice. I’m Detective Inspector Grace Archer and this is Detective Sergeant Harry Quinn.’

Suskind greets them with a wide smile revealing an impressive set of perfect white teeth and escorts them into her office, a modern, untidy space filled with piles of blue flyers, posters and discarded Brexit memorabilia.

‘Please take a seat. Can I get you something to drink?’

They both decline.

‘I have spoken to the police already.’

‘We understand that, Miss Suskind. We’re just following up on another line of enquiry,’ replies Archer.

‘And what would that be?’

‘I’m afraid I cannot say.’

She flashes a wan smile and sits behind her desk.

‘When was the last time you spoke with Mr Faulkner?’

‘Two weeks back. I don’t remember the exact date . . . oh . . . the eleventh, I think.’

‘Was that in person or on the phone?’

‘In person, at my flat in St John’s Wood.’

‘What was his frame of mind?’ asks Quinn.

She steeples her fingers together. ‘He wasn’t depressed, or suicidal if that’s what you’re implying.’

‘You had an argument that night,’ Archer prompts.

She shifts in her chair. ‘We’ve had many arguments.’

‘What was it about?’

‘Are you suggesting our argument is the reason he has gone missing?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Shouldn’t you be asking who his enemies are, or if he has angered some nutter? God knows enough people hate him.’

‘We’ll come to that in a moment. The argument you had . . .’

Her fingers tighten. ‘It was nothing important.’

‘Your neighbours reported a lot of shouting, a scream and the smashing of something like glass or pottery.’

‘What happens behind my closed doors is none of their concern. Anyway, Lewis and I are both passionate people. What can I say?’

‘Do you and Mr Faulkner live together?’