‘I do.’ She nodded, but wondered if it was the right thing to do. Barely a day went by when Sasha wasn’t second-guessing her own decision-making process, when she didn’t feel up to the job and worried she was going to get found out at any moment and marched from the building. ‘I’ll get on to the press office.’

‘By the way.’ Vaughn lifted a finger to his face. ‘You’ve something on your chin.’

When she walked back into the main office, past the bleeping phones and clacking keyboards, Craig Power was still orbiting her desk.

‘Boss,’ he said. ‘Got a moment?’

‘Give me a sec, Craig, just let me… do… this.’ She thumbed the screen of her phone to send a message to Kev, asking what time he was going to get home, fully expecting him to ignore it. The days when they bombarded each other all day with texts because they couldn’t bear not to be in contact – when it was a thrill to know they were always thinking about each other – were long distant. The message flew away with a whoosh and, satisfied, she slapped the phone down. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Why am I here?’ he asked.

‘Well, that’s a big question, Craig. I think we all ask ourselves that sometimes.’

He loomed over her, his tall frame obscuring her view of the rest of the office. Craig Power was a talented young detective who had transferred from South London several months ago. He was one of those people who could be absolutely charming when he chose to be, but who was also under the impression he was God’s gift to policing. He dragged his heels at the bread-and-butter stuff, the phone-bashing, the slow accumulation of data mined from various sources, all the desk work that was absolutely vital to bringing an investigation to a successful conclusion.

Craig preferred old-fashioned police legwork. He liked prowling crime scenes, interviewing, following up leads around town. Seated at his desk for too long, chained to the phone, he became irritable, even confrontational with other members of the team – but rarely with Sasha, Craig was far too sensible to piss off his line manager. She’d see him scowling at his monitor, one leg restlessly beating an impatient tattoo on the floor. His frustration reminded Sasha of Denny, who would get ill-tempered if he couldn’t get to the park regularly for a kick-around.

‘DS de Vaz and DC Chambers are out interviewing. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here.’ He gestured at his desk, where he’d been compiling an up-to-date list of local CCTV cameras.

‘Don’t get neggy, Craig.’

‘Get one of the civilians to do it. We’ve got a misper out there, and you’re not playing to my core strengths.’