‘You crossed a line,’ Silas says as they drive out of the village and head towards the A30.

‘Sorry,’ Strover says. ‘I just took the number plate. We don’t have to run a check on it.’

He lets her stew in silence as he nurses the car down a narrow road. He loves Cornwall’s lanes, particularly when they’re in full bloom like this, wildflowers tumbling over high drystone walls. They weren’t so much fun when he was towing a caravan, five-year-old Conor yelling in the back, Mel beside him, stressing over an old road atlas.

‘We spent a year working together,’ Strover says, breaking the silence. ‘I like Kate.’

‘We all do. That doesn’t mean we start checking her new toyboy’s number plates just because he might be having an affair.’

In truth, he’s less bothered than he sounds. He just needs to put a marker down, remind her who’s in charge.

‘That’s not why she asked,’ Strover says.

Silas glances across at her, surprised. Has he missed something? Female intuition again. ‘So why did she?’

‘She’s asked us to do two things for her,’ Strover says. ‘Search for a facial match with Rob. And check that he wasn’t driving around Cornwall when he was meant to be in London. It’s not just Rob who’s worried about doppelgängers. Kate is too.’

‘And?’

‘I just think we should check it out, that’s all. Given everything that’s happened to her in the past twenty-four hours.’

Silas’s phone starts to ring on the car intercom.

‘Talk of the devil,’ he says, glancing at the display screen. It’s the Control Room at Devon and Cornwall Police.

‘Any news?’ he asks.

Maybe he could put in for a transfer down here, while he’s still got some miles on the clock.

‘Your Beamer’s been found.’ It’s the same officer he spoke to earlier, when he rang through to the Control Room with the car’s details. ‘A couple of miles up the coast, in a car park behind Nare Head.’

‘No sign of the driver?’ Silas asks.

‘Nothing.’

‘Can you get forensics to have a look? Take some prints?’

There’s a pause before the man speaks, clearing his throat. ‘This is Cornwall, not Swindon,’ he says. ‘And it’s a Sunday afternoon. Do you know how many forensics we have across the force?’

Silas doesn’t want to get drawn into an argument over a lack of resources. It would be a quick race to the bottom. ‘The car was stolen and the driver tried to run down one of our officers,’ he says.

‘We’ve taken a good look around the area. No sign of anyone.’

He’s not going to win this one. At least they’ve found the car. ‘Thanks for your help,’ he says, hanging up.