The problem with forensics is that the better it gets, the more inconvenient it is to work around. In the old days the police could get away with clomping around in their size twelves and poking things with a pencil. Now they can pull a viable DNA result off a sample the size of ladybird’s eyeball and you’ve got to be wearing gloves at the very least. I used to walk around with a spare pair of gloves in my pocket, but now I’ve got a set of booties in there as well – just to be on the safe side. You’ve got to watch those booties when walking on polished wood though, so I left them off until I’d located Olivia’s room on the second floor.

It was a big room, expensively wallpapered in a subtle blue and lavender pattern with reconditioned sash windows that looked out over the street. The high ceiling had its original plaster mouldings and it was, if you threw in the en-suite bathroom, about two thirds the size of my parents’ flat. Her walk-in wardrobe was easily the size of my old bedroom and totally wasted because, as far as I could tell, the bulk of Olivia’s clothes were spread out in a nice even layer across the floor.

I stooped to check some of the labels – mostly high-end high street with a couple of designer bits. In contrast, her shoes were neatly ranked on a set of purpose-built shelves at the foot of the bed. Some of the heels were a bit outrageous, especially a pair of blue Manolo Blahnik pumps that looked like an invitation to ankle damage to me.

There was no way Lady Ty didn’t have a cleaner, and judging from the absence of dust in the gaps between the bannisters, he or she was coming in at least four days a week. Still, I doubted that our hypothetical cleaner had been in early enough that morning to change the linen on the neatly made bed. I looked closer – there was a dent in the coverlet and the pillows had been scrunched up. My guess was that Olivia had come back and slept on top of her bed, briefly, before me and Guleed had arrived to brighten up her day. She’d been casually dressed and freshly laundered when we’d interviewed her, which meant she must have showered and changed.

I checked the en-suite bathroom and there, on the floor, was last night’s party gear and her bath towel. I kept my distance and made a note to inform the follow-up search team so they could bag them up. I stepped back into the bedroom and tried to get a feel for Olivia.