They were both sitting at the kitchen table when I shuffled in wearing my towelling robe. Mum was already dressed and she told me she had made arrangements with Sylvia.

‘Are you sure that you don’t mind me going, Laura?’ she asked me. ‘Nobody will know I’m there so I’ll be safe.’

Her words triggered a blitz of emotions in me. Guilt. Fear. Shock. A raging sense of impotence.

How could this be happening to my mother? To us? To one of the largest police forces in the world?

It beggared belief, and yet here we were. Living in fear. Wondering who would be next to die.

‘Are you all right, Laura?’

Aidan’s voice snapped me out of myself. I told him I was fine. Just not quite awake.

Then I hugged my mum and told her that I wanted her to go to Sylvia’s.

‘It’s the sensible thing to do,’ I said. ‘I wish I could go with you.’

‘I’m sure Sylvia wouldn’t mind,’ she said.

I shook my head. ‘It’s not possible, Mum. I have to stay here to help find whoever is doing this. And I swear to you that we will. It’s only a matter of time. We’re throwing everything at it. Hundreds of officers are working on the case.’

She already knew almost as much as I did about the murder of Marion Nash. The TV was playing in the background, tuned to the breakfast news on the BBC.

The link between the two killings had been established and they were showing photographs of Mrs Nash and Dave Prentiss. There were also exterior shots of the bookstore in Clapham and a short interview with the Commissioner outside Scotland Yard.

‘I can confirm that Mrs Nash was the wife of a detective chief inspector on the organised crime task force,’ he said. ‘And that she was among those who received the death threat text message.’

In answer to a question from a reporter he was forced to admit that Mrs Nash had not been provided with personal police protection.

‘The issue of how to protect those individuals at risk is being considered as a matter of extreme urgency,’ he said. ‘There will be a press conference later this morning when we’ll be giving more details about the investigation.’

The Commissioner looked exhausted and I doubted that he’d had any sleep.

After his interview they put up a photo of Marion Nash with her husband, which looked as though it had been taken some years ago. My thoughts shifted to Graham and my heart went out to him. How on earth would he cope? His life had been callously ripped apart.

The three of us watched the news in silence for a few minutes and then Mum said that she needed to go home and pack a bag before driving to Ringwood.