There was the crust of a jam sandwich still sitting on a plate, recently abandoned perhaps by the wee girl. Three Hot Wheels cars sat in a short queue near the middle of the table, like the sugar bowl was a roundabout.

Anne gave her husband a perplexed look, perhaps telling him to back off, and suggested they take a seat. Jasmine preferred to remain on her feet when she made her opening remarks, as it made her feel less pathetic.

‘First of all, let me apologise. Jim Sharp was supposed to be in touch earlier this week, but the reason he hasn’t been is also the reason we’re here. Jim didn’t turn up to work on Monday and we don’t know where he is.’

Anne looked initially crestfallen and then a little concerned.

‘He’s gone missing? Have you told the police?’

‘The police have been informed,’ Ingrams replied, ‘but unless there are suspicious circumstances, they have no remit to investigate.’

He phrased it well, Jasmine thought. Technically, both of his statements were true.

‘And you think it’s connected to the work he was doing for me?’ Anne asked.

‘As his associates,’ Jasmine replied, ‘we’re pursuing various lines of inquiry, starting with examining all his current open jobs. Most of those have been well documented at our end, but the reason we’ve had to trouble you is that unfortunately Jim seems to have taken your case files with him.’

She recalled Anne’s anger on the phone earlier in the week and adopted a tone she hoped sounded both sincere and businesslike.

‘I appreciate that this might be difficult for you, or maybe just tedious, but we need you to outline for us what it was you hired Jim to look into.’

Anne gave a broken sigh; large on the intake, like she was gearing up for an expression of extreme disdain, then after a short pause, the more measured exhale of someone who was showing admirable and pragmatic restraint.

Neil didn’t seem to read it that way, though.

‘Why don’t I go over this with them?’ he suggested to her, in a way that was supposed to sound solicitous and considerate, but which Jasmine could tell Anne only found annoying.

‘I’m fine,’ she insisted, a little tersely. Jasmine’s guess was that she was anything but, and Neil knew this, but nothing he offered to do was going to help. ‘I’ll talk them through it. You go upstairs and get the, you know, dookit thingy. And keep an eye on Megan, make sure she doesn’t have any reason to wander in here, okay?’

‘Sure,’ he said, almost grateful to have a task.

Jasmine expected Anne to sit down, but instead she leaned against a worktop, her arms folded.

‘If you’re planning to record this or write it down, start now, because I’m only doing it once.’