It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that his core strength, as far as she could see, was being a pain in the arse.

‘Newsflash, Craig,’ she said quietly, ‘a lot of police work is boring, monotonous, repetitive, and absolutely crucial.’

Exasperated, he returned to his desk, heaved himself into his chair. Sasha liked Craig, he had a great future ahead of him if he lost the attitude, but she didn’t like it when he acted like a sulky child. She already had a pair of those at home.

The evening sky was stained a golden and red by the time Ajay and Lolly came back to the office. They were giggling about something, which annoyed Craig. Ajay came over to Sasha’s desk with packets of seeds and nuts and dried fruits and placed them in front of her, just as she was finishing a call to one of the force’s press people about tomorrow’s media event.

‘The next time you’re hungry,’ he told her as she listened on the phone, ‘just eat a handful of these.’

She pressed a hand over the mouthpiece, the press manager still speaking in her ear, and poking at the spongy fruit, whispered, ‘Your husband is a saint for putting up with you.’

‘I’m really hurt, Mrs Dawson.’ Ajay made a sad face. ‘I’ll be over there at my desk, crying my eyes out.’

Late at night, when she ticked off her last task, she finally thought about going home. Most of her team had already left, only Ajay and Lolly were still at their workstations. Sasha was shattered, her joints stiff from hunching over her computer, and her eyes were sore from the stark fluorescent lights. But she was still gripped by the uneasy feeling – that same feeling she had every single day – that there was something desperately important she had left undone.

‘Lolly, Ajay, it’s ten to ten.’

‘Cowboy time!’ said Lolly.

‘Get yourselves home, we’ve another big day tomorrow.’ Neither of them had to be asked twice. ‘Ajay, do me a favour when you get in tomorrow. There was a detective inspector who worked here a long time ago, a man called Peter Carrington, can you get me his contact details?’

‘The Bad Place guy.’ He made a note of his name. ‘Sure thing.’

When they had gone, Sasha took one last look at her emails and saw the press office had sent a link to footage provided by the Mannings, which was going to be released to the press after tomorrow’s press conference.

When she clicked on it, she saw it was video, taken eighteen months earlier, of Sammi on stage at a school talent show. Sitting in a soft island of light from the desk lamp, Sasha watched the whole performance.