She was leaning on the counter looking tired while a bearded desk sergeant gave her the obligatory debrief and returned her possessions, which included a belt and a pair of high heels. She was a good four inches taller once she’d put on the shoes, and was outraged to be told that she couldn’t collect her car keys until the afternoon.

‘Madam, having failed to give a urine sample we can’t be sure you are yet in a fit state to drive,’ the sergeant said. ‘Is there somebody who can come and collect you?’

Gillard walked up, flashed his warrant card at the sergeant and said, ‘I’ll give her a lift home.’

‘What are you doing here?’ she said, noticing him for the first time.

‘Helping you out, apparently.’

She shrugged, and immediately started looking through her phone. Gillard led her to his unmarked Vauxhall. She showed no signs of getting in, more intent on the messages she was sending. With a sigh, the detective pulled open the passenger side door and gestured to the seat. She slid in without thanks or acknowledgement. She then made a call, talking loudly and animatedly to another woman in a language Gillard couldn’t understand. He sat in the car with his arms folded and waited. Still on the call, she turned to him and waved towards the road, as if he was a taxi driver. He did nothing. She eyed him suspiciously while she finished up the call, and then finally put the phone away.

‘Why aren’t you driving?’

‘Two reasons. One, I’m not your lackey. I’m here for a reason. Second, I don’t know where you want to go.’

She stared ahead at the blank car park, then briefly closed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. That was rude of me.’ She gave him her home address, then took some moisturiser and started applying it to her face.

‘Did you choose the tikka masala?’ Gillard asked, as he drove. ‘It’s usually okay.’

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t eat anything until this morning. They suggested the bacon sandwich for breakfast.’ She gave a slight laugh. ‘I wouldn’t normally eat it, nor white bread. Actually it was very good. But the coffee was like poison.’

Speaking of which. The sentence floated temptingly in Gillard’s mouth. But this was not the right time. Instead he asked, ‘Hangover?’

She nodded. ‘Always a very bad idea.’

‘Always seems that way the next day. There are paracetamol in the glove compartment, plus a bottle of water. Help yourself.’ She did so.

He risked a smile. ‘So how much did you have?’

She looked accusingly at him as she was swallowing the tablets. ‘I’m not going to fall for that one.’

‘Just between you and me, Prisha. This isn’t evidence I could use.’

‘Six or seven glasses of wine.’

‘Where were you going at that speed, after that amount?’

‘Home.’

He said nothing for a while, driving slowly and carefully, letting the reality of her situation sink through.

‘Where from?’