Josie and Sandra always have an endless supply of conversation, even though they see each other every day, still living next door on the same street, in the tiny Devon village where Robin and Finn grew up. Finn’s dad left when he was a baby, and the three households almost existed as one: the Butlers, Sandra and the Masons. He remembers the giggles from the three of them when Robin’s mum was still alive and how they would shush as he and Finn came into the kitchen – talk not right for the ears of small people. He always wondered what they might have been gossiping about, curious to be allowed into the exclusive inner sanctum of girl talk.

But it seems today circumstances are too serious for such frivolities.

As he drives, Robin glances in the rear-view mirror at Sophie. She is staring out of the window, lost in her own thoughts, chewing on a fingernail with chipped pink nail polish. She is wearing a patchwork flowing dress, knee-high brown boots and what seems to be a green army coat over the top.

Robin takes a deep breath, suppressing his irritation. If he was being honest, he had considered phoning Sophie when he heard the news about Finn, but he couldn’t bear the thought of having to spend time with the woman.

He first met her three months ago, out with Finn to celebrate his birthday. Just the three of them.

It hadn’t started well. She’d wafted in, scented delicately with a soft perfume, but also something else: the sweet, earthy smell of pot he easily recognised. But surely not. Surely nobody would be so stupid as to turn up for dinner with a police detective – albeit one off duty – stinking of marijuana?

The conversation was fine at first. Finn telling them about his latest project, the details of which neither of them understood. Sophie talked about her doctorate at the university – research into the effectiveness of cannabinoids in the treatment of cancer. Worthy work indeed, Robin thought, although there was then no doubt in his mind that she was sampling her own product.

But then— Robin grits his teeth just remembering the conversation.

‘…it’s not that I’ve got anything against investing in defence, but it seems to me the money could be better spent,’ Sophie had said. ‘When people are depending on food banks to survive and NHS waiting lists are at crisis point, I think there are bigger priorities.’

‘We can always do with more coppers on the front line,’ Robin replied.

‘I’m not sure that’s where the money is best spent—’

Robin frowned. ‘You mean, making sure our streets are safe?’