By the time he reached the second floor, he kind of wished he had been less petulant and taken the lift, but anger was a great motivator and he only paused for breath once he was outside Steph’s room, and even then it was only a matter of seconds before he hammered at the door.

Steph opened the door with a look of caution and then a smile, which quickly became an air of concern as she registered his expression.

‘Harry …’ she began.

‘Who was the friend you met today?’ he demanded.

‘What?’

‘The friend that you met today. What is her name?’

‘I …’

He cut her off again. ‘And your mum. What’s her name, while we’re at it?’

He watched as Steph studied him and he allowed her time to process the implications of her potential answers.

Finally, she spoke. ‘You’d better come in.’ She stood aside and opened the door wide. He stepped in, glad they wouldn’t have to continue the conversation in the corridor. She closed the door behind him and the small bedroom seemed to shrink even smaller.

Harry glanced at her bed and saw her bag and phone. He also noticed some clothing. Steph’s eyes followed his gaze. ‘I was just about to get dressed,’ she said. It was only then Harry registered she was wearing a dressing gown and her hair was damp, presumably from the shower. She pulled the belt tighter around her body. ‘At least let me get some clothes on if this is the hostile visit I sense it to be.’

Steph snatched at her clothes and went into the en suite. She reappeared a minute later in jeans and T-shirt, her hair tousled from the towel. She picked up a hairbrush and ran it through her hair – all the time watching him. Harry said nothing.

‘Do you want to sit?’ She indicated the spare bed.

Harry gave himself a mental shove, refocusing on his reason for being there. ‘Your friend?’ he reminded her, declining to sit.

Steph turned and placed the hairbrush on the dressing table. She paused for a moment before turning back to look at him. Harry’s patience was wearing thin but at the same time his initial spike of anger was subsiding. He hated to feel so angry; it reminded him of both Dominic and their father.

‘My friend,’ began Steph, ‘was Sonia Lomas, but you know that already, right?’

‘Right,’ said Harry. ‘Your mother?’

‘Again, I suspect you know she is Wendy Lynch or, as you probably know her better, DCI Lynch of CID, Cumbria Police.’

‘Right again,’ said Harry. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

She had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘I didn’t want to blur any lines.’

‘Blur lines? What the hell do you mean? Let’s do this one thing at a time. What’s the deal with Sonia Lomas?’

‘I can’t discuss it,’ she said.

‘What? Of course you can!’