‘He’s gone with Lolly to that drug support centre in Basildon where Lydia met Matt Foster. It’s called Inspire.’

‘Do they know what’s happened here?’

Ajay held up a finger, good point. ‘I’ll call him now to make sure.’

When he walked off, she lifted the ringing phone to her ear. ‘Sasha Dawson speaking.’

The call was from the teacher who had left a message the previous day, who asked if Sasha was available to talk about ‘Angel’s situation’.

‘I’d love to. When were you thinking?’

‘Can you come in this morning?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Sasha wondered what the teacher would think if she knew she was dressed in a polyethylene suit and overshoes, and standing a few feet from a dead body. ‘It’s really not convenient this morning.’

‘It won’t take very long,’ said the teacher. ‘Apologies for the short notice, but I think we should talk as a matter of urgency. We take bullying very seriously here.’

‘Well, we agree on something, at least.’ Sasha was going to say no, but placed the phone to her shoulder and called over to Ajay. ‘Can you cover for me if I nip off a bit later? There’s something I need to get sorted.’

‘You’re the boss, boss,’ he said.

She told the teacher she’d get there in an hour and then went inside. The council flat managed to be simultaneously sparse and untidy. There was one small room comprising a living area and kitchenette and, behind that, a bedroom and a tiny bathroom. The front room was hot and dark behind closed curtains. In the kitchen was a grubby freestanding cooker, with frayed wiring plugged into a socket spotted with burn marks and electric rings thick with greasy stains; a counter with a peeling laminate surface. The interior of the fridge smelled of sour milk. The doors of the knackered-looking cupboards sagged on their hinges, the sink was filled with grimy pots and pans, a plastic bin bulged with tins and fast-food packaging. Sasha had visited many grim flats and houses in her career, homes blighted by poverty and neglect, and the sight never failed to make her feel a sadness for the people, like Lydia, for whom every day was a struggle to survive.

In the living room the furniture was old and flimsy. Stuffing spilled out of numerous tears in the sofa. A card table had fallen on its side beside a small television on a footstool.