‘Her typical uniform. A midcalf length navy blue overcoat, with a long rainbow scarf. She also had this lovely mauve fedora.’

‘She should stand out then,’ Gillard replied. ‘Do you have a photo?’

Karen dug into her bag and produced an iPad. ‘I picked this from her YouTube channel,’ she said selecting a video and turning it around so the officers could see it. Beatrice was wearing a sparkly black dress, standing in front of a full orchestra, with her eyes half closed and a beatific smile. The detective tried to concentrate on the woman’s elfin face, framed by wavy chestnut hair, but the power of the music and its overwhelming melancholy kept intruding. It was almost as if the soundtrack for the case was getting ahead of itself, the woman’s musical epitaph appearing before they knew whether she was dead or alive.

Lynne Fairbanks’ jaw was almost hanging open in admiration. ‘My god, she’s playing Zigeunerweisen,’ she gasped.

Karen nodded. ‘Pablo Sarasate’s masterpiece, one of the hardest pieces in the repertoire.’

Lynn was entranced. ‘I got up to grade eight violin, but couldn’t begin to tackle that. All that double and treble-stopping, and glissando’

Karen turned to Lynne, clearly surprised to find such expertise in a PC. ‘Beatrice has such enormous talent.’ There was a catch in her throat as she said: ‘We can’t lose her, it would be a tragedy.’

It may already be that. Some things you just don’t say. Gillard took down some more details. Ms Ellsworth and Ms Ulbricht shared a flat at the Royal Academy’s student accommodation in Goldhawk Road in West London. PC Lynne Fairbanks passed across the missing woman’s phone number, and the landline number of Adrian Singer. ‘I’ve already tried ringing him, and it went to voicemail,’ Fairbanks told Gillard.

After the interviewees had left, Fairbanks turned to Gillard with a face full of respect and asked: ‘What do you think?’

He pursed his lips. ‘Well, normally 18 hours since the last phone contact is no time at all, except perhaps for a child. But the crucial thing here is that she missed an important concert. I’m no musician, but that speaks volumes.’ He was about to continue when his mobile rang. A glance at the screen confirmed the call was from the chief constable.

‘Yes, ma’am?’ he answered.

‘I’m sorry to drag you away from the funeral earlier, Craig, but this is a very important case and I want you on it.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ The detective was a little surprised to have been chosen considering his delay in cracking the Empire of Spice case just a week ago.

‘The missing woman is the daughter of the German minister of justice, Karl-Otto Ulbricht.’

‘I see.’ Suddenly it all made sense.

‘Exactly. I’ve had representations, via the Home Secretary, that is our Home Secretary. I’ve tried to pass it on to the Met, because that’s where the young woman lives, and, as far as we can establish, where she was last in contact with anybody, but unsurprisingly they don’t want to touch it with a barge pole. Unfortunately because she was first reported missing after a concert in Surrey, by someone who has an address in Surrey, it’s our baby. Your baby.’