‘Oh, sweetie,’ said Ciara, putting her wine down on the table with a clunk, and reaching forward to place a hand on his bony knee.

‘This has fucked me up proper,’ said Duffield thickly from behind his arms. ‘This has fucked me up good. I wanted to marry her. I fucking loved her, I did. Fuck, I don’t wanna talk about it any more.’

He jumped up and left the room, sniffing ostentatiously and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Ciara whispered to Strike. ‘He’s a mess.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. He seems to have cleaned up his act. Off heroin for a month.’

‘I know, and I don’t want him to fall off the wagon.’

‘This is a lot gentler than he would have had from the police. This is polite.’

‘You’ve got an awful look on your face, though. Really, like, stern and as if you don’t believe a word he’s saying.’

‘D’you think he’s going to come back?’

‘Yes, of course he is. Please be a bit nicer…’

She sat quickly back in her seat as Duffield walked back in; he was grim-faced and his camp strut was very slightly subdued. He flung himself into the chair he had previously occupied and said to Strike:

‘I’m out of fags. Can I have another one of yours?’

Reluctantly, because he was down to three, Strike handed it across, lit it for him, then said:

‘All right to keep talking?’

‘About Lula? You can talk, if you want. I dunno what else I can tell you. I ain’t got any more information.’

‘Why did you split up? The first time, I mean; I’m clear on why she ditched you in Uzi.’

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ciara make an indignant little gesture; apparently this did not qualify as ‘nicer’.

‘What the fuck’s that got to do with anything?’

‘It’s all relevant,’ said Strike. ‘It all gives a picture of what was going on in her life. It all helps explain why she might’ve killed herself.’

‘I thought you were looking for a murderer?’

‘I’m looking for the truth. So why did you break up, the first time?’

‘Fuck, how’s this fucking important?’ exploded Duffield. His temper, as Strike had expected, was violent and short-fused. ‘What, are you trying to make out it’s my fault she fucking jumped off a balcony? How can us splitting up the first time have anything to do with it, knucklehead? That was two fucking months before she died. Fuck, I could call meself a detective and ask a lot of fuckass questions. Bet it pays all right, dunnit, if you can find some fuckwit rich client?’

‘Evan, don’t,’ said Ciara, distressed. ‘You said you wanted to help…’

‘Yeah, I wanna help, but how’s this fucking fair?’