‘Sam, I just had a really strange and unsettling experience. I was interviewing Prisha Roy, one of the daughters of our murder victim, and she seems to know a lot about me.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. My exact date and place of birth, which I suppose you can look up in the General Register Office, but then the weirdest thing. She knew that I had a terrible year in 1986. I don’t know how she could have known that. Any ideas?’

‘Maybe she knew Liz Knight. How old is she?’

‘Too young to be a school classmate. It’s really strange. She says she’s cast a horoscope of me. Said she needed to know that the man in charge of the investigation had the personal qualities required to find the culprit. Do you know anything about astrology?’

‘No. It’s probably just guesswork, or she asked someone about you.’

‘I suppose she could have dug up the newspaper coverage of the Knight murder trial. That mentioned my relationship with Liz, didn’t it?’

‘That’s right, Craig. She’s probably just playing mind games.’

‘Maybe you’re right.’ He blew her a kiss down the phone, and was about to hang up when she spoke.

‘Craig. You know I really trust you, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Oh shit, he knew where this might be going.

‘Well, the conversation with that woman, if I may say, sounds a bit intimate. How did she come to be discussing personal things like this with you?’ Before he could reply she added, ‘You don’t fancy her, do you?’

‘Not at all, Sam.’

‘What does she look like?’

Gillard could hardly give her the truth, which was that she was tall and slim, with dazzling come-hither eyes, full lips and glossy dark hair that most women would kill for. Like most men, he could see that she was trouble and all the more enticing because of it. So he gave her the more palatable half of the truth: ‘She’s not my type. Nasty, snide, controlling.’

‘Those aren’t looks, but good.’ The pause was not good news, Sam was circling the issue to approach from a fresh angle. ‘So, this Prisha Roy, she said all those personal things in an interview room, in front of Claire and some lawyer?’

Gillard tried to laugh, but it came out like a cough. ‘No. She’s not a suspect. It was an informal chat.’

‘At her house?’

‘No.’ He might as well tell her. This wouldn’t look good.

‘Where then?’

‘At the Orion Hotel, Heathrow.’

‘In reception, I damn well hope, not in a room.’ Sam’s voice had acquired an edge he could have shaved with.

‘It was a room, a conference room. It’s one she uses frequently, apparently.’

‘I bet she does.’

‘Sam, stop being jealous. There’s nothing to be jealous about.’

‘I wouldn’t be jealous if you weren’t so damned evasive. Why did you agree to meet her there?’

‘Because she asked to, Sam. Because I needed to see her quickly, and it was the only gap in her diary. Because I thought I could get more information in an informal setting.’