It was Saturday morning – late enough for the sun to have burned all the summer mist off the water, but still, she’d have thought, too early to go round to interview people.

‘Which one’s her brother’s?’ the man said, consulting his phone. ‘It’s called Barton Bee.’ Even though Meredith could no longer see him, she could hear the sneer in his words, as if he thought they were particularly ridiculous.

‘Not sure. We can always ring her if we can’t find it.’ The woman dropped her voice, but Meredith still heard. ‘Hopefully she’ll be in less of a state than she was the other day. Emad said she was in bits. Is she staying here with her brother, then?’

‘Dunno.’

There was a pause, and then a confident rap on one of the boat’s portholes. Reluctantly, Meredith tied her short dressing gown tighter round her waist and went to let them in.

They were both flashing badges at her.

‘Meredith Vincent? DS Mark Davis and DC Gemma McMeekin,’ said the man. ‘May we come in?’

‘Of course. Sorry, I didn’t sleep last night, and now I’ve only been awake long enough to make coffee … I didn’t know what time you were coming. My brother’s gone to his workshop already, he’s got a big commission to finish. But I suppose you don’t need to speak to him, do you?’

Shut. Up, she mentally commanded, realising how hideously rambly and defensive she must sound.

She stood aside to admit them as they hunkered down and squeezed through the low door, which was particularly difficult for the guy, who must have been about 6’5”. He almost had to fold himself in half to get in. Her left hand was on the door frame, and the woman, Gemma, clocked her scar as she came past her into the barge.

Meredith saw Gemma’s eyes widen and hastily pulled her arm behind her back, furious with herself for blushing.

‘Please, sit down,’ she said, gesturing towards Pete’s faded, saggy old corner sofa next to the wood stove.

They all sat, Meredith at one end, DS Davis’s long legs a trip hazard as first he stretched them out across the kelim rug, then crossed them, then decided again and went for a manspreading stance instead. She didn’t warm to the man at all.

‘I’ll just get a few details down, if I may,’ Gemma said, taking a notebook and pen out of her shoulder bag. Now that she was closer, Meredith saw that she had braces on her teeth, which made her voice sound a little thicker than it probably was normally. She couldn’t have had them on for long, because her teeth were still quite prominent. She had a plump, guileless face which, with the braces, made her look much younger than she probably was.