Rita sat down next to Heather at a long, white-clothed table at Malik's Tandoori and Indian Restaurant, waiting for her friend's colleagues to arrive. Layered white napkins lay on the table in front of every seat.

A smartly dressed man in a black suit and tie strode up to the table with menus. 'Heather!' He spoke in a thick accent. 'It's been a while. We thought you'd changed your mind about coming. We thought we'd upset you.' He spoke cheerfully. 'You're looking beautiful. When I told Malik you'd booked a table, he said, how can I leave my husband with these gorgeous ladies?'

'Oh, stop it!' Heather grinned and hugged him. 'How are you, Mithun?'

'Business is good. Hectic. We've changed our menu.'

As Heather and Mithun continued chatting, Rita took a menu from the pile he'd left on the table and found the vegan dishes. Having made a decision, she unlocked her document and entered Sandra's name among her other top suspects, with a link to the news story about the clothes. Her mind reeled at the thought of the tattered carrier bag, the woman who had clutched them as she had hurried out of the cafe. The clothes poking out of the bag had been creepily out of place with Sandra's other possessions.

Rita remembered Sandra's unsettling intensity, the fury in her eyes when she'd spoken about Erica. Seeing Erica with Jon would have rubbed salt in the gaping wound of what happened to her sister.

And Sandra was capable of violence. She was surprisingly strong.

Rita forwarded the article to Alfonso, just so he could be aware. He had looked at the earlier messages she had sent, but not replied. Her lack of concern was turning to mild unease, but she put her thoughts aside. She often went long periods without contacting him. He wasn't the kind of guy who was glued to his phone at all times. That was one of the things she liked about him.

But they were travelling in a foreign country. Things were confusing to navigate. She missed him as a travelling partner. In some ways she'd come to realise that, unlike her, he was quite naive. He often liked to assume the best in people. It was one of the things she admired the most about him but it could be a double edged sword.

'What do you want, madam?' It took Rita a moment to realise that Mithun was talking to her.

'Oh, excuse me,' she said with a start. 'I'll have the vegetable dosa and the saag aloo. And a beer, please.'

'Their dosas are lush,' Aimee said. 'I had one a couple weeks ago.'

'I'm not sure I've ever had one,' Rita said.

'I promise you, madam, you won't look back.' Mithun took the menus away and disappeared into the back of the restaurant. Two men and one woman walked through the door. Heather's colleagues. Cheerful and confident, they walked over and sat down beside Heather's parents. Occasions like this always blew Rita's mind a little. The thought of asking anyone from work to meet her relatives filled her with horror. Her family would look down on everything, their weight, their way of speaking, their dress sense, the things they enjoyed doing. She didn't even want to think about how they'd react to Alfonso.

'Where's Marty tonight, Hev?' Bob said. 'You said he might be coming.'

'With his girlfriend,' Heather shrugged. 'Understandable. I was the same at his age.'

'Tell him I've a bone to pick with him about that cafe he recommended, the new one. He said it was cheap. It wasn't, and the food's nothing to write home about.' Bob chuckled, light hearted without an edge. Everyone laughed. 'What? It's true!'

Mithun returned with some drinks, poppadoms and dips. He handed Rita a bottle of Cobra beer and a glass with ice. 'Thank you,' she said, as delicious spicy smells emanated from the kitchen. A waiter came out with food for a nearby table. She followed the plates with her eyes. They looked delicious.

'Just off to the ladies'.' Aimee got up, ruffling Heather's hair and squeezing her shoulder as she did so.

'Are you all right, Rita love?' Heather said, turning to her. 'You seem...quiet.'

When Rita hesitated, Heather lowered her voice so the others at the table couldn't hear. 'I know how hard it is.' Taking a deep breath, she said, 'Sometimes I get nightmares from what we found in Dixon's properties. Giving evidence at that nonce's trial was horrendous - Stenton, I mean.' She swallowed hard. George Stenton had assisted in Henry Dixon's murders for years out of fear Henry would expose his depraved interest in children. 'I had to go on SSRIs. I was getting panic attacks, I could hardly leave the house. I never showed it at work, you know how it is in our job. Always got to be ten times tougher than everyone else. Poor Aimee, she had to see me at my worst.'

'It's not about that. Maybe it is, a little.' There were things no amount of pills and workplace therapy had put a dent in. Rita knew she would never get over her guilt over the chain of events that had led to Silvio's murder. 'I...had a shock. I don't know if Subeera told you. I was at the Crime Convention when Erica Scott was killed.'

Heather's eyes widened. 'She didn't tell me. That must have been awful. You OK?'

'I'm OK.' Rita broke off a piece of poppadom and dipped it into a hot red sauce. 'Alfonso's nephew was arrested briefly. It turned out, there were some things neither of us knew about him.'

'What things, love?' Heather said.

'I'll tell you later,' Rita said just as Mithun and the waiter came by with a food trolley loaded up with aromatic, brightly coloured dishes. 'Thanks, this is lovely,' she remarked as Mithun placed her food before her with a flourish. Looking at the dosa Rita realised how hungry she was. It was a crispy and ultra thin pancake made with ground coconut, loaded with vegetables and nuts, and with three dips of different colours on the side. As she took a mouthful Aimee strolled back to the table.

The door of the restaurant swung open, hitting her with cold air.

Rita glanced at the man who had just strode in. She did a double take. He gave her that contemptuous look she was coming to loathe, but did not react. Instead, Rita sat stunned, her skin crawling as Jon Phillips walked up to their table. The warmth seemed to go out of the room. Had Jon followed her here? Had he been looking for her?

'What are you doing here?' she snapped. He showed no reaction. It was like she wasn't there.

'Aimee! What a surprise. How nice to see you,' he said effusively to Heather's wife. 'It's been years.'

Aimee turned around with a start. 'Oh. Hi! Jonathan? Um...how are you?'

'Not bad at all. I'm visiting my father, he retired to Yorkshire a few years ago,' Jon said with a smile. Rita opened her mouth to speak, still stunned, but no sound came out. He did not acknowledge her or look at her. She was relieved that Aimee was giving him a strange look.

'Oh.' Aimee said, seeming surprised. 'Well - that's nice.'

'You're married now?' Jon said dramatically. Rita hadn't looked at their fingers, but he must have. 'Why didn't I get an invite?'

'Oh, we didn't invite anyone except our families.' Aimee was a pro at this, Rita thought, but her hackles were rising on the other woman's behalf. 'We were going to have a reception but me and Hev have intense jobs and - frankly, I'm a bit antisocial.' She scoffed, but Rita noticed she was clutching Heather's hand very hard. 'What about you? What's going on your end?'

'I'm still lecturing,' Jon said smugly. 'At Cambridge, as it happens.'

'Congratulations, Jon. Looks like everything worked out OK for you.' Aimee nodded. 'I'm glad.'

Jon checked his watch. 'I'm supposed to be meeting someone here. But I couldn't resist catching up with someone from way back when. I'll let you go.' He gave a smile like teeth on a shark. 'Enjoy your night.'

'Who was that, darl?' Heather said as Jon walked casually away.

'A blast from the past,' Aimee muttered when he was out of earshot. 'We both did criminology PhDs at the same time at Imperial. Mid noughties, this would have been. We were housemates. He was a couple years older than me. He moved out six months in, and frankly it was a relief. He was lovely at first but after a while he kept trying it on with me. Knowing I was a lesbian made it worse. Wouldn't take no for an answer, kept making weird sexual comments.'

Aimee snorted derisively. 'I can handle myself - before I went to uni I trained as a copper and I'd worked on a farm. But it was a couple months after that Russian lass, so I was a bit...you know.' She sighed. 'On edge. I didn't report it. I didn't think I could report someone for being weird. The academics all thought he was the dog's bollocks.'

'The dog's what?' Rita tried not to laugh.

'Thought he was wonderful,' Aimee spluttered. 'Sorry love. Forgot you're not from here. My mum's French. She never has got used to that saying either.'

'I'm not surprised. On both counts.' Rita relaxed, cutting into her dosa and slowly regaining her appetite. 'I saw Jon at the Crime Convention.' She took a breath. While she knew English well, understanding their accents still took effort at times. 'Sorry, Aimee. What did you say about Russia?'

'The Russian lass who disappeared. Elizabeta someone,' Aimee said. No way. Rita remembered Erica's podcast. She felt her stomach lurch. 'She was an undergrad at Imperial when I did my PhD. I met her once or twice because I was on the LGBT committee. She came to a couple of our events. She was a good few years younger than me. I didn't know her at all, but when she went missing it hit us all really hard. Especially sharing a house with someone who made me so uncomfortable.'

'Darling,' Heather said roughly. 'Shall I get the lads and have a word?' She gestured to the three coppers who were having animated conversations with her parents. 'I'm not having this.'

'It's fine,' Aimee said, but she was clearly rattled.

'I'll get Mithun to throw him out,' Heather sighed. 'Tempted to arrest the prick.' A scrap of tissue fluttered to the ground from between her and Rita's chairs as she stood up. Rita bent under the table to get it. There was something written on it. She unfolded it, wanting to laugh at the presumptousness of the man, but chills ran down her back as she gazed at the paper.

Of course he had followed her.

'Seen the news tonight? Ready to hear my side yet, Inspectora Silvera?' Jon had written in neat ballpoint pen, signed with the same signature as on the book she still hadn't started reading. Seen the news tonight? Had he made the same connection she had about Sandra and the bag?

Below the writing, he'd left a phone number.