Lynne’s jaw was almost hanging open in admiration. ‘She’s really good,’ she gasped.

Karen nodded. ‘That’s Zigeunerweisen, Pablo Sarasate’s masterpiece, one of the hardest pieces in the repertoire.’

Lynne was entranced. ‘I got up to grade six violin, but couldn’t begin to tackle that. All that double and treble-stopping, and glissando.’

Karen turned to Lynne, clearly surprised to find such knowledge in a PC. ‘Beatrice has such enormous talent.’ There was a catch in her throat as she said: ‘I have a really bad feeling about this.’

Gillard excused himself and beckoned for Lynne to join him outside the interview room. Once he was outside he said to her: ‘I don’t quite get why the Met Police aren’t investigating this. She disappeared on their patch.’

Lynne shrugged. ‘All I know is that it was passed back to us because the woman was last seen in Surrey. And I suppose because Ms Ellsworth first reported her missing to this station. Her parents live just up the road apparently and she was visiting them.’

Gillard blew a heavy sigh and made his way back into the interview room, followed by Lynne.

‘Ms Ellsworth, you say that your quartet played at a wedding reception in Surrey on Sunday evening? And that was when you last saw her?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you went back to London after that?’

‘Yes, three of us went back by train from Clandon on the Sunday evening.’

‘Why did she not accompany you?’

‘As I told the PC, after the recital she was picked up by a friend, Adrian Singer.’

‘Aha. Have you contacted him?’

‘Yes. I rang him. He said Beatrice left his home late on the Sunday to catch the last train to Waterloo.’

‘So we already have a disconnect, don’t we? Mr Singer told you she headed up to London on the Sunday, but two days later she replies to a text from you saying she is only that afternoon on her way up from Clandon.’

Karen nodded. Gillard saw that Lynne already had various phone numbers and addresses noted, including that of Mr Singer. He was beginning to see why the Met had passed it back.

After the interviewee had left, Lynne turned to the detective with a face full of respect. She asked: ‘What do you think?’

He pursed his lips. ‘Well, normally eighteen hours since the last phone contact is no time at all, except perhaps for a child. But the crucial thing here is that she missed an important concert. I’m no musician, but clearly it’s out of character.’ He was about to continue when his mobile rang. A glance at the screen confirmed the call was from the chief constable.

‘Yes, ma’am?’ he answered.

‘I was sorry to drag you away from the funeral earlier, Craig, but this is a very important case and I want you on it.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘The missing woman is the daughter of Germany’s Minister of Justice, Karl-Otto Ulbricht.’

‘I see.’ Suddenly it all made sense.

‘Exactly. I’ve had enquiries, via the Home Secretary, that is our Home Secretary. I tried to pass it back to the Metropolitan Police, because that is where the young woman lives, and as far as we can establish where she was last in contact with anybody, but unsurprisingly, because she was last seen here in Surrey, they don’t want to touch it with a barge pole. So it’s our baby. Your baby.’