‘You’re passionate about what you do. That’s hardly a fault. Don’t even think about it.’

‘It’s passion or disillusionment, one or the other.’ Jazz smiled. ‘Two weeks ago I thought I’d left the force completely.’

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Why?’

‘I was let down big time, both at work and at home. Anyway, it’s too long and boring a diatribe to go into and I don’t want to rake over the past anyway.’

‘I understand. Your dad did say you’d recently got divorced.’

‘Did he indeed?’ Jazz raised an eyebrow. ‘And what else did he tell you?’

‘Bluntly, that it was the best decision you’ve ever made.’

‘No. He never was a Patrick fan.’

‘So I gathered. Are you happy about it?’

‘No one’s happy about failing, are they? And that’s what divorce is admitting. But I’m certainly happy the whole thing is behind me, yes.’

‘And you’re back at work?’

‘It seems I am, yes. Thought I was just doing my old boss a favour, but . . .’ Jazz shrugged. ‘We’ll see how it goes.’

‘Would have been a lot to throw away, surely? You’ve certainly climbed the career ladder, which must be tough for a female.’

‘Not particularly. Anyway, just a plain old plod, me,’ she smiled.

‘Hardly plain,’ he commented. ‘And certainly better looking than Columbo.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment, not an insult, I think!’

‘I’ve always thought how much I’d like to work in a profession that really makes a difference to society, such as becoming a surgeon, or an inventor. I really admire you, Jazz. All I do is theorise on how things should be done.’

‘As a matter of fact, my first love was not a helmet and a truncheon. I wanted to be an artist. Still do.’

‘Your dad told me you’d studied History of Art.’

‘My dear old daddy seems to have told you rather a lot about me.’ Jazz frowned.

‘Don’t blame him. I admit to probing.’ Jonathan grinned. ‘Although it wasn’t hard, as you are his favourite subject. Anyway, the great thing about having a natural talent is it never leaves you. I have none, as far as the arts are concerned. I can’t paint a door frame, let alone a picture.’

‘But you have the ability to think logically and clearly and translate those thoughts onto paper. That’s your instrument of creation, surely?’

‘I knew I liked you, Miss Hunter. What an elegant way of giving my paltry little life some meaning. Coffee?’

‘I’d love some.’ Jazz looked at her watch as Jonathan stood to go to the bar. ‘Then I really must be making a move.’

‘So, how’s your current case going?’ Jonathan asked as he put two coffees on the table and poured two heaped spoonfuls of sugar into his.

Jazz had spent ten years with a man who worked in the same job as her and understood the nuances and shorthand of the world they shared. Cases could be discussed openly without fear of an innocent slip of the tongue. She knew of many colleagues in the office with partners outside the force and how difficult they found it not to be able to share the minutiae of their day in case of a security breach.