‘Would that make a lot of difference?’ asked Cooper.

‘As I said before, it’s the bone structure and tissue depth that decide the shape of the face. And I’m confident that’s accurate.’ She paused. ‘Why do you think it isn’t?’

‘A wrong identification.’

‘I see.’ She sounded unreasonably disappointed. But Cooper knew how she felt.

‘I’m not suggesting there’s anything wrong with your reconstruction,’ he said.

‘No, of course not. You’re just saying it looks like the wrong person.’

Cooper studied the photograph for a moment. Its eyes were fixed on the middle distance, and the face held no expression. But it didn’t need to. He wondered if Suzi Lee was doing the same thing at the other end of the line.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said.

‘In your own mind,’ said Cooper, ‘do you feel the first reconstruction is as accurate as you could have got it?’

She was silent for a moment. ‘Yes, I am. Not in my mind, but in my heart. I feel sure that’s Jane Raven Lee.’

Cooper nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s my feeling, too.’

Audrey Steele’s mother lived on the Devonshire Estate, in a cream – rendered semi that had a washing line full of sheets billowing in the back garden. You didn’t see many washing lines these days, but maybe Vivien Gill was the old-fashioned type.

Inside, a rustic-effect brick fireplace had been set into one wall of the sitting room, and a central heating radiator on another. Above the picture rails, the ceiling was coved and artexed. At the back of the house was a kitchen smelling strongly of disinfectant. When he followed Mrs Gill into it, Cooper became aware of a sickeningly sweet scent that might have several sources he didn’t want to think about. A baby sat in a high chair at the table, its mouth smeared with something sticky and yellow. Doidy Cup and Bickiepegs were set out on the counter.

‘This is my granddaughter,’ said Mrs Gill. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous?’

‘She’s beautiful,’ said Cooper, giving the child a brief wave. He might learn the attraction of babies one day, but for now the appeal was lost on him. Once they could walk and talk, and look after their own toilet arrangements, he had no problem with children. But babies made him a bit nervous.

In the sitting room, Vivien Gill made him sit down in one of the armchairs, though he told her he couldn’t stay long.

‘Mrs Gill, I don’t know whether you’ve spoken to Ellen Walker today …’

‘I talked to Ellen last night. She had some idea about a picture in the paper. An artist’s impression, or something.’

‘A facial reconstruction, yes.’

‘I thought it was a daft idea myself.’

‘Did you see the picture?’

‘No. I don’t get the evening paper.’

Cooper looked out of the window and saw a man watching the street from a house opposite. Maybe that was why Mrs Gill had wanted him to sit down, so that he couldn’t be seen by nosey neighbours. She hadn’t otherwise seemed particularly hospitable. Of course, this was the Devonshire Estate, where residents were practised at recognizing a police officer, even out of uniform.