Of course that was why she was here. She didn’t come for his comfort or out of need to see him and share her grief. She wanted something from him, and it was something he couldn’t give. He sat down opposite her and said gently, “Emma, that isn’t possible.”

She put her coffee mug on the hearth, and he could see her hands were shaking. He wanted to reach out and take them but was afraid that she would withdraw. Anything would be better than that.

She said, “I thought that was what you’d say. I tried to explain to Clara that it might be outside the rules, but she doesn’t understand, not fully. I’m not sure I do. She knows that the victim here, the dead woman, is more important than Annie. That’s what your special squad is all about, isn’t it, solving crimes when people are important. But Annie is important to her. To her and to Annie, rape is more awful than death. If you were investigating, she’d know that the man who did this would be caught.”

He said, “Emma, the Squad isn’t primarily to do with the importance of the victim. To the police, murder is murder, unique, never put permanently on one side, the investigation never recorded as failure, only as at present unsolved. No murder victim is ever unimportant. No suspect, however powerful, can buy immunity from the enquiry. But there are cases which are best tackled by a small designated team, cases where it’s in the interest of justice to get a quick result.”

“Clara doesn’t believe in justice, not now. She thinks you could take over if you wanted to, that if you asked you would get your own way, rules or no rules.”

It felt wrong to be sitting so far distanced. He longed to take her in his arms, but that would be too easy a comfort—almost, he felt, an insult to her grief. And what if she drew away, if she made it obvious by a shudder of distaste that he wasn’t a comfort but a contribution to her anguish? What did he represent to her now? Death, rape, mutilation and decay? Hadn’t his job been ring-fenced with an invisible sign, Keep Out? And this wasn’t a problem that could be solved with kisses and murmured reassurance, not for them. It couldn’t even be solved by rational discussion, but this was their only way. Hadn’t he prided himself, he thought bitterly, that they could always talk? But not now, not about everything.

He asked, “Who is the chief investigating officer? Have you spoken to him?”