The glass Allison was holding so firmly slipped from her hands. It clattered to the floor, water splashing in all directions.

‘There was a protest outside the station earlier, which stopped people from entering. When it was cleared, there was a sudden rush of people piling in and onto the platforms. A lot of pushing and shoving. Chaos that the transport police should have prevented.’ The detective obviously realised this wasn’t something he should be saying because he hurriedly added, ‘I think it was unexpected. Anyway, because of the crush of people on the platform, it isn’t clear what happened.’ He hesitated, his eyes locked unwavering onto Allison’s. ‘There will be a full investigation. We’ll be analysing CCTV footage to see if we can get a clear view of what happened.’

Allison smoothed a hand over the black fabric of her dress. It had been an opportune choice. But then, of course, she’d known it was going to be. ‘You’re sure it’s Peter?’

‘We recovered his wallet, Mrs Fellowes. It would help if you could do a formal identification but if you don’t feel able, we can use dental records.’

She shivered as she imagined his dreadful injuries. Could she bear to see him that way, for the last memory of her handsome husband to be a broken, battered body? But if she didn’t… ‘I need to see him to believe it’s true.’ She brushed the tears from her eyes. ‘We’ve been married three months today. We were going out for dinner tonight to celebrate.’ She looked at the two glasses, red lipstick smudges on the empty one, Peter’s sitting untouched.

DS Long, who hadn’t yet spoken, raised a hand to attract her attention. ‘Because of the crowded platform, most people didn’t notice what had happened until it was too late. One of the women we interviewed…’ He held a hand up as if in anticipation of her objection. ‘She thought he might have jumped.’

When the implication of what he was saying cut through the fog of confusion, Allison wanted to leap to her feet and tear his eyes out. Tears were running down her cheeks. She brushed them away. ‘Suicide! There’s absolutely no way. Peter was a great husband, a brilliant and successful solicitor. He didn’t suffer from dark moods; in fact, he was irritatingly happy-go-lucky.’ She waved a hand around the room. ‘A nice house, no mortgage or money worries. Absolutely no reason for him to want to throw it all away.’ She pointed to the wine glasses, her voice rising, shrill, strident, echoing around the room. ‘We were going to celebrate.’

DS Long held both hands up, palms out. ‘We have to look into every aspect, Mrs Fellowes.’

DI Doyle nudged him with a shoulder. ‘Now’s probably not the time. Is there someone you can ring to be with you, Mrs Fellowes?’