They both smiled their thanks, and Emma took a mouthful as Styles spoke. ‘He’s pretty sure the wife had more to say before her husband turned up.’

‘How’s he doing?’ she asked, face softening into a concerned frown.

‘Same old Porter. Intense as ever. Wanted to charge after a suspect today and lost his rag a bit when he got reined back in.’ He twirled a bird’s nest of spaghetti around his fork and paused with it in mid-air. ‘On a positive note, he had Simmons from the drugs squad batting her eyelashes at him again today.’

‘Oh, Nick, just leave him be. He’ll be ready when he’s ready.’

Styles grinned. ‘I know, I know. But a small nudge never hurt anyone.’

‘Unless they’re stood at the edge of a cliff,’ said Emma.

Styles held a hand up. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa. I do the jokes in this relationship. Don’t mix up our roles. You’re the pretty one, and I’m the funny one.’

She fluttered her eyelashes at him, giving an exaggerated pout. He smiled again as they each loaded up a forkful of pasta, coated in creamy carbonara sauce. He knew she was right. Porter would find his own way back to normality, or something resembling it, when he was good and ready. Today’s flare-up of temper wasn’t the first time Styles had seen his partner let a case get to him more than it should. He wondered if it was the Lockes’ apparent lack of concern for Natasha that had set him on edge. It could just as easily be the thought of a young woman’s murder going unsolved. Just like Holly’s had.

He had tried to get Porter to talk about it in the past, but the shutters came down, and his partner either clammed up or changed the subject. Maybe it was worth asking if he’d given any more thought to talking to one of the psychologists they had access to on the force. No, he should probably just do as Emma suggested and leave it for now. He looked across the table at her, feeling relief that he didn’t have to cope with what Porter had gone through. Was going through. He prayed he’d never have to find out for himself.

CHAPTER SEVEN