The programme cut back to the crime scene and a voice-over. ‘Police are, so far, baffled about why anyone should want to kill this woman who had charmed a nation. Sources say that the murder weapon is thought to be a hammer, and a cyclist was spotted racing past through the early morning snow.’

The programme then descended into a speculative conversation between the studio presenter and the reporter at the scene, who ran through various theories about why anyone should have killed Mrs Roy. Eventually the reporter handed back to the studio.

‘Now I have with me retired Detective Chief Superintendent Norman Champion,’ the studio presenter said, turning to a guest, a craggy-faced, bald-headed man.

‘Christ, not him,’ Gillard muttered.

‘…who was one of Britain’s most successful detectives and…’

Sam turned to her husband in bemusement.

‘This bloody desk jockey,’ he said gesturing at the screen. ‘Couldn’t catch herpes in a brothel.’

‘…captured one of Britain’s most notorious murderers, James Patrick Hill,’ the presenter continued.

Gillard turned to her. ‘I’ll tell you how he actually caught him.’

‘Shush, Craig, I can’t hear what he’s saying,’ she said, waving her hand at him.

Champion was now speaking. ‘…of course the Surrey force is quite inexperienced at this type of crime. The Met is really the only force with the depth of skill and knowledge required.’

‘Patronising bastard,’ Gillard muttered.

‘Craig, please.’ Sam rolled her eyes, and whacked up the sound volume on the remote.

Gillard, clearly incensed, raised his voice to compete with the retired detective on the screen. ‘It was about half past midnight one Saturday in 1997. Champion was drunk, and driving through Epping Forest, when he pulled into a lay-by for a slash…’

Sam gave up, and muted the TV. ‘Okay, you win. Tell me your story.’

‘He collided with an unlit stolen vehicle in the back of which Hill was sleeping. Champion didn’t immediately recognise Hill, despite the fact that his mugshot had been all over the TV for months, but Hill knew him for a cop, and ran for it across the road, only to get knocked down by a stretch limo full of women on a hen do. It was them that recognised Hill as he was lying there with a broken leg and they who called the police. Finally old Norman staggered up and took credit.’

‘Was he ever breathalysed?’

‘Nah, not by Barking Police. They know one of their own. But I saw the witness statements from those in the taxi. According to them, Champion was absolutely legless. Of course, by his own account, he’d been chasing Hill, that was why he could hardly stand.’

‘We’ve missed what he was saying now,’ Sam said, turning the sound back on.

‘You’ll have missed nothing,’ Gillard responded ‘Except a lot of hot air and conjecture.’

At that moment his phone rang. It was DI Claire Mulholland.

‘Yes,’ Gillard said. ‘I’m watching it now. Yes, I did see that useless bloody idiot.’

Sam watched her husband, and she could tell that he had been told something interesting.