Jansen has the file with him and he hands it over to her. We sit in silence as she looks through it. A bird flickers past the window, casting a quick shadow across the room. She starts crying, tears dripping on to the photo clasped in her hand. Jansen shifts in his seat. I’ve found over the years that watching other people’s grief can affect you in one of two ways; the first is empathetic, but I’ve also experienced the opposite, where grief can cause a sort of disgust. I don’t know if it’s a sort of defence mechanism, or something else. But I do know that if that hits you then you’re not going to be able to talk to them effectively. Something about Jansen’s face tells me he’s experiencing the latter. I catch his eye, motion for him to leave. He’s startled for a moment, perhaps that he can be read so easily, then nods, gets up and leaves. Cheryl doesn’t seem to notice his departure.

‘I’ve only just joined the investigation,’ I tell her when I judge the moment’s right, ‘and I’d really like to get a feel for what Marianne was like.’

Cheryl wipes her eyes with a tissue then blows her nose. There’s a ring on her finger: rose gold with a large oval diamond which catches the light. I’ve no doubt it’s real. She takes in a deep shuddering breath then lets it out again.

‘Marianne was … she was very single-minded. Even as a kid.’

‘You grew up in Den Haag?’

‘Until I was thirteen, then we moved to Haarlem because of Daddy’s work. I remember Marianne kicking up a fuss about not wanting to move.’ A little sad smile at the memory. ‘She had her friends and didn’t want to go.’

‘She was shy?’

‘Shy? No. It wasn’t that; it was more like she just didn’t see the need. But she didn’t sulk like a normal kid did; she just threw herself into convincing Daddy that we didn’t need to move. So she prepared a whole argument which she presented to him one weekend on bits of paper, all reasons why we shouldn’t move. She was driven, I guess, is what I’m trying to say, didn’t like to be told what to do.’

A quality which I know all too well can be a double-edged sword.

‘But when Mummy died a few years later she changed, became more … Well, she became different. A little harder maybe. But I suppose we all did.’

Jansen had filled me in on the mother’s death. Ovarian cancer, nothing relevant to the case. And yet sometimes these things are very relevant, just not in an obvious way.

‘Tell me about her business.’