‘God, yes, stupid of me. I should’ve simply introduced myself. I just assumed …’

‘That’s okay.’ She held out a hand for him to shake. ‘It’s Detective Inspector Baarda, right?’

He was in his late forties, tall with curly brown hair, broad shoulders, and a physique that shouted former sportsman who’d recently begun to lose the will to exercise.

‘Right.’ He shook her hand enthusiastically. ‘And you’re Dr Woolwine.’

‘Connie,’ she said. ‘Let’s walk.’ Dropping his hand, she led the way off the grass and into the road, looking up at the surrounding buildings as they went. ‘Not much in the way of obvious CCTV, in spite of all the buildings. Do the police have anything at all?’

‘Little if any that will help. Sunset was eight thirty-eight on 20 August. Elspeth Dunwoody disappeared at around nine thirty p.m. She was seen entering the gardens at five past nine from another road, and her car was caught on cameras two roads away at nine twenty-four p.m. After that, nothing. Most of the CCTV is focused on doorways and the pavement areas. There’s a distant shot of her climbing into her car, but nothing close up.’

‘You’ve seen the footage?’ Connie asked, standing centrally on one particular parking spot and taking photos of the 360-degree view around it on her mobile.

‘Not yet. I only arrived from London this afternoon. I checked in with the Major Investigation Team, looked through the file, then checked in at my hotel and came here. Apologies, I should have made it a priority to view the CCTV. Careless of me.’

‘You don’t have to apologise to me; I’m just the hired help. To be honest, I’m not even sure what I’m doing here at this stage. It’s not my usual kind of case. Here, stand with me. I want to know which of these flats are residential and which are business.’

‘Um, should we not perhaps wait until a more social hour for that sort of—’

‘Nope,’ she said. ‘Now, look around and give me a percentage idea of the curtain-twitching response we get.’

‘Sorry, what exactly are you about to—’

Her scream was an arrow through the midnight air, piercing the fiercest double glazing and the thickest of curtains.

‘One, two, three, four … There we go,’ Connie muttered as the first onlooker peered out, followed by the flicking on of lights and the opening of windows.

‘Someone will phone the police,’ Baarda said quietly.

‘Good. I’d like to know precisely how long before there’s a reaction to an incident around here.’

A door opened and a man walked out sporting a plaid dressing gown. Connie couldn’t suppress the smile.

‘Do you need assistance? Is that man bothering you?’

‘Thanks for checking on me. And he’s a police officer, so we’re good.’