Dani scanned the area around her. Once again she felt eyes on her from all directions. She shuddered. As ever, with the police cordon in place around the flat, there was a gaggle of eager bystanders on the sidelines, trying to get a good look at proceedings, but it wasn’t their keen eyes that had spooked Dani.

She looked over at the houses, flats and shops, trying to place the source of the eerie feeling that was taking hold of her once again, just like it had more than once over the last couple of days. Or maybe it was just her medication – or lack or it – messing up her mind again.

She saw nothing to explain the feeling. No shadowy figures, no ghouls, and yet somehow she felt the same ominous presence as she had on the street outside her flat. At Natalya’s murder scene. Even outside Grant’s house.

What was wrong with her?

‘Right. I’m going to go up and take a look,’ Dani said, managing to bring her focus back.

‘Shall I come up with you?’ Easton said.

‘Sure. But probably time to get rid of this lot first, don’t you reckon?’ Dani asked, indicating the crowds of people and the now unneeded police and vehicles.

‘Yeah, ok.’

‘But why don’t you get Constable to do it. Give him something useful to do rather than chatting up that poor PC. If you’re worried about lawsuits slapped on the Super’s desk, then that there is one in the making.’

Easton smiled. ‘Ok, I’m on it. I’ll be up in the flat in a minute.’

Dani finally drew her eyes away from the street and she headed through the open doorway and up the bare staircase to the flat. Once inside she quickly saw that the place was a dive. Why was Ethan Grant living in such a cesspit? It reminded her of the house from The Young Ones, the comedy show from the eighties where the central characters, university students, lived in a squalid house, the conditions in it almost as bad as the personal hygiene of its occupants. Really this flat was nowhere near as decayed as that one, but the similarities were there; the ashtrays piled high with butts, the empty beer cans and bottles of spirits, the pizza boxes and takeaway containers half filled with leftovers, and not a clean cup, plate or bowl in sight.

Despite herself, Dani realised she was smiling. She’d loved that show when she was young. Ben had too. At times they’d been just two happy, smiling kids, who revelled in the violent slapstick and foul language of one of their favourite TV shows, huddled together on a sofa together in fits of laughter, tears streaming down their faces.