‘It’s like I said,’ she replied. ‘We haven’t seen you around. And Lance, he …’

Ben screwed up his eyes. ‘What about Lance?’

Melissa shrugged again. ‘It’s nothing. Just Lance being Lance, probably. You know what he’s like. But he thought perhaps … he said he wasn’t sure you’d gone through with it. The other night.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘You know. With the photos.’

Ben showed his indignation. ‘But he was there. He saw me. I put the photos where I said I would, right at the back of the—’

Melissa gestured for Ben to lower his voice. She glanced around, and Ben caught a flash of that bruise again. It made Ben think of what Lance had said to Melissa in the darkroom: I know he hurts you. And it made Ben think of the time Callum had hurt him.

‘So we’re OK?’ said Melissa, turning back. ‘I can tell Callum there’s no need to worry?’

‘Of course,’ Ben replied. He felt an urge to move a hand to his back pocket, but caught himself and linked his fingers in front of him. ‘Why would Callum need to worry?’

Melissa’s smile broadened. She touched Ben’s arm again. And then, out of nowhere, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. When she pulled back, she looked up at him through her eyelashes and rolled her lips. ‘Don’t tell Callum I did that, will you?’

Ben swallowed hard. He shook his head.

Melissa gave him one last smile. ‘Meet us tonight,’ she said. ‘Eight o’clock. In the common room. If you get there first, find some seats in a corner.’

This time Ben nodded. He watched as Melissa turned away, and then raised his hand to his cheek.

She’d kissed him. Melissa had kissed him.

It was what he’d wanted. What he’d fantasised about since the day they’d met.

And yet all he could think about was what he carried in his back pocket, and the fact that Melissa’s lips, when they’d touched him, had been deathly cold.

Sunday 27 October, 4.39 a.m.

Fleet stood staring over the inky water. The sun was hours from rising, but there was a morbid glow cast by the lights overlooking the team of officers gathering evidence further along the dock. If anything, from where Fleet was standing twenty metres away, the fuzzy light made the water appear even more impenetrable – as though it were holding something back.

‘How are you doing?’

Fleet turned to see Randy approaching along the walkway. He’d removed his coveralls as far as his waist, and was reaching into his suit jacket pocket. As he came to a standstill at Fleet’s side, he lit two cigarettes, and then silently held one out for Fleet to take.

Fleet reached for it, grateful. ‘I didn’t know you smoked.’