‘Am I missing something?’ Gillard asked. ‘I don’t see it helps very much.’

‘No, I agree. But any extra data is a help.’ There was a noise in the background and some uncharacteristic cursing from Delahaye.

‘You all right?’ Gillard asked.

‘Got to go, Craig. I’ve just knocked a cyclist off.’

‘Ambulance required?’

‘For me, possibly. The guy is huge and seems really quite upset.’ The call ended.

Gillard punched out the control room number and reported the incident, telling them to trace Delahaye’s mobile number to get a location. From memory, the forensic scientist always used a hands-free set in the car. There would be serious trouble if he hadn’t.

Leticia had arranged to meet DI Graham Morgan in a cafe on the corner of Wexford Road in Staines.

She was ten minutes late because of the difficulty of finding somewhere to park in the crowded terraced streets and had in the end squeezed her Mini into a small space, half of which intruded on a single yellow line. There was no sign of a traffic warden, and she hoped she would be in and out within half an hour anyway.

Morgan was already there, reading a paper, dressed in a rugby shirt and jeans, his greying hair neatly combed. He pointedly looked at his watch. ‘We’ve got official permission for a bit of subterfuge here,’ he said, as his coffee and bacon sandwich were brought to the table. ‘When we meet the landlord’s agent, we will explain that the new tenant is my brother, who is just emerging from a period of mental health difficulty. I’ll do the talking, though we shouldn’t encounter any difficulties because they’ve already got copies of all the relevant paperwork.’

‘What’s my role?’

‘You don’t really have to say anything.’

‘Okay, but who am I actually meant to be?’

‘I was thinking that you are my girlfriend,’ Morgan said, with a smile that was intended to be reassuring. ‘I know there’s a bit of an age difference – it’s not too much of a stretch is it? I’ve always liked black women.’

Leticia tried to wipe the revulsion from her face. Morgan wasn’t her type at all, and she didn’t like him even imagining them as a couple. He wasn’t exactly creepy, not like the shrink Golob, but a bit too cocksure. The kind to boast of imagined conquests to his mates down the pub. Quite apart from that, he looked at least a decade older than she was. ‘All right, but don’t try too hard to make it convincing, okay?’

Morgan held up his hands. ‘I’m not the affectionate type, don’t worry.’