Robin leans forward and fiddles with the controls on the radio, switching the setting to CD and turning the volume up loud. A tactic to change the conversation, she assumes, but she doesn’t mind. Songs blare out from the speakers, tunes Freya only vaguely recognises.

She’s heard this stuff before in Robin’s car. She leans forward and opens the glovebox, looking at the CDs. Placebo. Garbage. Muse.

‘You should think about upgrading to modern-day,’ she half shouts, holding the plastic cases out to him. ‘Get an iPod at least.’

But Robin’s not listening to her, cranking the volume up again on the stereo and singing along to the music. The change in her boss is surprising, his usual hesitant air completely gone as he half shouts, half sings along to the lyrics, almost word-perfect.

‘What is this shit?’ she laughs over the noise.

‘Beastie Boys! You don’t know it? Consider this your education, Freya West!’

They continue on to long, straight roads, getting stuck behind lorries and tractors until the dual carriageways provide an opportunity for Robin to put his foot down. The old Volvo rattles along cheerfully; Robin hums along to the music, his fingers tapping the beat on the steering wheel.

They drive through Bridport, then Honiton, then onto the M5, where Freya spots the sign for Exeter Services.

‘Here!’ she shouts to Robin.

‘But we’re nearly there.’

‘I need to pee!’

He sighs and turns off down the slip road, pulling up in front of the Moto service station.

‘Get me a packet of Monster Munch then. Flaming-hot flavour,’ he shouts after her as she climbs out of the car. ‘And a coffee.’

She raises a hand in acknowledgement and walks into the services.

It feels like a holiday. The long car ride, standing in WHSmith choosing crisps and chocolate, stretching her legs after two hours sitting down. People around her with their families, getting food before continuing their journeys. She joins the lengthy queue for Costa. Work feels like a world away, even though she’s here with Robin.

As if reading her thoughts, her phone rings and she looks at it. Josh Smith, it says on the screen. She answers it.

‘Hi, Josh.’

‘Hi.’

There’s a slightly awkward pause, like Josh has forgotten what he called to say.

‘I… Baker said you were on assignment with Butler.’

Freya hesitates. She wonders what Robin told their DCI. ‘Just for a few days,’ she replies. ‘And it’s the weekend. What are you doing at work anyway?’

He laughs, on to more familiar subjects. ‘You know the job, nothing stops.’

‘Any progress with the freezer?’

‘A bit. Fingerprints are back. A whole load of partials, most with no hits, but one match on the system. We’re trying to track him down now.’

‘That’s progress. Are you thinking it’s from one of the people who dumped it?’

‘Yeah. Although we can’t find anything on CCTV.’