He winced at the pungent smell. There was no mistaking it.

Urine.

What on earth was she doing with urine in the fridge? Six jars of it, no less. His first thought was athletic drug testing, but no one had mentioned Mrs Roy as any kind of athlete, certainly not one of the level who might require urine tests. Perhaps there was a health-related reason. He would keep an open mind.

The bathroom was extremely neat and tidy. There were fewer toiletries than he would normally expect in the home of a middle-aged woman. A couple of toothbrushes, toothpaste, roll-on deodorant, an expensive looking shampoo, and liquid soap in a hand dispenser. From this and the equally minimalist kitchen, it certainly seemed that Mrs Roy didn’t spend much time here.

Gillard slipped the toothbrushes into an evidence envelope and marked it up and sealed it. He then flipped up the bathroom pedal bin, and saw there were just a few tissues and make-up removal pads in a drawstring liner. He took the liner, and a similar one from the kitchen, and marked them up as evidence.

One bedroom was used as an office, with a MacBook Pro laptop and an answer machine with three messages. He listened to them, and from subject matter and the breezy first-name familiarity concluded they were all purely work-related. He marked up and bagged the Mac for evidence, and then went into the second bedroom, which was where Mrs Roy seemed to have slept. There was a small neatly-made double bed with a reading lamp and a stack of management magazines. Gillard lifted the covers and concluded from the one or two hairs within that the bed had been occupied since the last change of sheets. He turned to the wardrobe, in which three dry-cleaning bags contained jackets and skirts.

The rest of the flat revealed nothing of much interest. The lounge had a modest-sized TV and a settee, one side of it thick with dog hairs. Though he had seen a dog basket in the kitchen it was clear that Bertie spent a fair amount of time sitting side-by-side with his mistress on the sofa. No doubt he would already be missing her. The loyal animal had done everything to defend her.

Mount Browne’s dog kennel, originally built in 1952 solely for the use of police dogs, had expanded in an ad hoc way over the years. Each year thousands of dogs throughout the country end up in police custody, either because they are dangerous breeds, are owned by incarcerated criminals, or because they have been involved in an attack. Surrey is no exception, although limited space means impounded animals can only stay for a few days before being sent to a private kennel.

Claire Mulholland had been looking forward to meeting Bertie, and had agreed to bring Kirsty Mockett along at her request. His detention, for forensic purposes, was unusual and the detective inspector anticipated that the animal could be reunited with the family fairly quickly.