I don’t much like estate agents. I remember the estate agent who showed me and Rach around our apartment for the first time, some jumped-up little upstart in a Burton suit with a Gucci belt (that was probably snide) called Miles. His affability betrayed his insincerity with such transparency that it made us both feel a bit queasy. The cheap suit coupled with the pseudo-expensive belt summed up the disparity he was clearly grappling within himself: what he really was and what he hoped to become.

Lana Jones, however, appears efficient and helpful. And terribly posh.

‘Such a dreadful business.’ Her blonde bob wobbles as she shakes her head in something resembling concern, ‘the woman opposite…’

I nod, and ask her if she can let us into the apartment. She duly obliges. I can see she’s dying to ask questions, to know more about the ‘terrible business’ at number seven. It’s human nature of course. There’s police tape covering Karen’s front door and she looks at it, visibly shudders.

‘Gives me the heebie-jeebies thinking of that poor woman left in there… It was definitely murder then, Detective, not suicide? I read it the paper… same thing happened to that man didn’t it? Nigel someone, in the hotel room – at Le Reymond, beautiful hotel that, the suites are something else – have you been? So you’re looking for the girl… the one who lived here, Danni-Jo? Do you think she has something to do with it, that she could be the killer?’ Her eyes light up.

I’m half expecting her to jump up and down and start clapping her hands together like a seal. I haven’t seen the papers yet, but I hope Touchy has done me proud. We didn’t have any ID on Danni-Jo, or Rebecca Harper or whoever the hell she really is, so I told Touchy to use the CCTV footage from the hotel, maybe jog a few memories that way. It was the best I could give her. All I could give her.

‘Chills my blood really, to think I’ve come face-to-face with a serial killer, well, a potential one anyway, such a pretty girl too, well, woman I suppose, but thinking back there was something quite childlike about her really.’ She pauses, as though this recollection has only just struck her. ‘But to think… well, you’d never have thought by looking at her that she was a psychopath, I mean, she slit their wrists open…’ Lana visibly shudders again.

I’m tempted to tell her that psychopaths tend not to advertise their psychopathic tendencies, but it’s not my job to educate her. You’d think, by her accent, that her private school might’ve done that.

‘We’d appreciate it if you could let us have a look around the apartment, Miss Jones,’ Davis gives her a thin smile and she rolls her eyes apologetically as though she realises she has forgotten herself.

‘God, yes of course, of course.’

I ask her what they had talked about, she and Danni-Jo, and to give me her overall impression of her. This request seems to make her day.

‘She seemed very pleasant all in all, quite chatty and friendly, but it was a while back now you understand, so forgive me if I can’t recall the conversation verbatim, I talk to a lot of people day in, day out, you know, the job… must be the same for you… All the boys in the office were quite taken with her though, that much I do remember, couldn’t keep their tongues inside their heads when she walked in… like dogs on heat.’ She laughs and I nod mandatorily – nothing of note then. ‘Of course I remember her not just because she was rather pretty but also because she bought this place clean outright. Cash buyer. It’s not highly unusual, given that we’re Winterton’s and we deal with a certain calibre of clientele, but still.’

She’s adjusting the lapel on her sharp and expensive yet ill-fitting suit, and I can’t help imagining that she attends slimming classes and doesn’t include the pricey wine she drinks every night on her intake sheet. Sins for the seven glasses of wine!

‘So you definitely think it was her then, this Danni-Jo, the same girl?’ She has one of those shrill voices that cut through you like nails on a blackboard.

‘Did she elaborate on her personal situation; a boyfriend, family, work, where the money came from to purchase the apartment?’

‘Hmm, inheritance I believe, at least I think that’s what she said. Actually, I’ve brought along the file. It contains her photo ID and the name of the solicitors she used for the sale. I’m sure they’ll be able to help you fi…’

I almost snatch the file from her, which causes her to look at me in momentary alarm.

She just said photo ID.

Davis, who has already started rifling through drawers and cupboards, clocks my urgency and comes over. I spread the papers out over the white leather couch, deeds and letterheaded paper, searches and land-registry administration and… there’s a photocopy of a passport, yes… I pick it up and look at it and then I go dizzy.