He was wearing his ‘comfy’ uniform – a pair of black tracksuit bottoms and a baggy blue sweatshirt with more stains on it than a baby’s bib.

I was the only person who ever got to see him like this. Whenever we had visitors he’d put on jeans and a smart jumper and pretend that he didn’t live like a slob while at home.

But the truth was Aidan Bray was one of those men who looked pretty cool whatever they wore.

He was tall and trim with a sporty physique honed during regular sessions in the gym. But it was his face more than anything else that had attracted me to him in the first place. It was more interesting than handsome, and there was an openness to it that drew people in.

His eyes were large and green and set slightly too far apart. His cheeks dimpled when he smiled and his light brown hair was flecked with grey even though he was only thirty-three.

As he disappeared into the kitchen I realised yet again how lucky I was, certainly compared to Kate who had lost all faith in men, and was struggling to get her personal life back on track.

I dropped onto the sofa and exhaled a long breath. In front of me on the television a recorded episode of A Place in the Sun was drawing to a close. Aidan was a big fan, partly because he dreamt of moving to Spain one day to be nearer to his parents who’d retired to the Costa Blanca a few years ago.

I picked up the remote and turned to the BBC News Channel. Within thirty seconds they were running the Harry Fuller story and I watched DCS Drummond facing the media outside the Old Bailey.

‘So tell me more about this bloke Roy Slack,’ Aidan said as he re-entered the living room with my coffee. ‘I gather you’re gunning for him next.’

I looked up, surprised. ‘Have they mentioned him by name on the news?’

‘No. But he’s been all over social media this evening and he was trending on Twitter when I last checked.’

The force was always careful not to name people until they were questioned or charged, especially those who had the means and clout to cause a fuss. The mainstream media also tended to be cautious for fear of litigation. But on the Internet it was a different matter and people didn’t care about such things as libel and defamation.

Aidan handed me my coffee and biscuits and settled back into his armchair, waiting for me to answer his question.

He rarely asked me about my work and the characters we pursued because he knew that there was so much I couldn’t tell him. He had only ever demonstrated a vague curiosity anyway, and that could more often than not be satisfied by reading the Evening Standard.