Robin had walked away, ignoring their indiscretion. But he hadn’t called. And Finn hadn’t called him. A pause in their contact that was unusual. They’d argued in the past but made up without even so much as a mumbled apology. This time there’d been nothing. And Robin had no doubt in his mind as to why.

So he had no wish to see her again. Yet, here she is, sulking in the back of his car.

They turn into the car park for Finn’s block of flats and pull into the numbered space. Robin knows that Finn’s Ford Focus is currently parked at the multistorey, a few floors down from the van – left for the morning, when he would have planned to go home after the storm and get some sleep. Things haven’t turned out that way, though, and the empty parking space just reminds Robin of it.

The four of them get out of the car, and Robin opens his boot. He takes out plastic gloves and shoe covers, and turns to face them.

‘We’re not here in a police capacity, but we should treat this visit as if it were—’ he begins.

Josie interrupts him. ‘What do you mean, Robin?’

‘We need to disturb as little as possible. We need to wear these,’ he says, holding out the gloves. They all stare at them, blinking. ‘We’re looking for anything that will give us an idea of Finn’s state of mind, that will help us persuade him out of there. Outside of that, we should try to avoid contaminating potential evidence.’

The moment the words are out of Robin’s mouth, he sees Josie’s face fall and regrets his official terminology. He’d said it automatically, so used to telling officers under his command what to do. He’d forgotten this is family.

Next to him, Sophie scoffs. ‘I know Finn’s state of mind,’ she says, sulkily. ‘I don’t need to go snooping around his flat.’

‘Fine, then stay here.’

Josie slowly reaches out and takes the gloves from Robin, her face grey. She hands a pair to Sandra. After a moment, Sophie sighs and does the same.

They walk up the concrete steps to Finn’s flat. Robin puts the key in the lock and turns.

The smell is the first thing he notices. It’s musty, with an undercurrent of burnt toast and stale sweat. The hallway is dark, so Robin gropes around for a light and switches it on.

And gasps.

It looks like the flat has been ransacked. A narrow hallway leads to a small living room that includes the kitchen, with a bedroom and bathroom off to one side. Clothes and belongings are strewn on the floor; the kitchen overflows with dirty dishes and a full bin, over which hopeful flies hover. A line of black dirt on the carpet shows the usual walkways.