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mean, I liked him. He seemed … kind. But I didn’t really know him.’ Another sigh. ‘Jesus, Finn.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Have you told …’
    ‘I’m on my way there now.’
    ‘Poor guy.’
    ‘Yeah.’ The lights turn to green, traffic beginning to creep forward, and I ease the handbrake down. ‘I know. Lee, you better wrap it up there. The SIO is pulling everyone on to this. They’re going to want you back at the station.’
    I move into the contraflow, my gaze catching on the workmen as they stand amidst orange cones, laughing. So it takes me a moment to realise that she hasn’t replied.
    ‘Lee?’
    Then, ‘Finn, I think something is wrong here. This woman, Selena Cole, I don’t believe she just walked away. She has two little girls. She’s a widow, so there’s no father on the scene … I just don’t buy it.’
    A squeal of tyres, the car in front of me braking hard. I slam my foot down, skidding to a stop just inches from its rear bumper. My heart racing.
    ‘Jesus …’ I suck in a breath. ‘Okay. Look, I get that. But this is going to be huge. You’re going to be needed on this one.’
    ‘But …’
    ‘Lee, I know you don’t want to think that she’s left willingly. She’s a mother. You’re a mother. But she’s not you.’
    ‘I didn’t say she was.’
    The car in front of me stalls, the rut, rut, rut as its driver tries to turn the engine over. Typical. I consider my words, a skill at which I am woefully out of practice. Get back to the station. That’s an order. But then I think of childhood fights, Leah with three years on me, a hellcat temper, carrying me bodily from her bedroom when I just would not leave. Yeah. Maybe not.
    ‘Okay,’ I say, attempting softly-softly. ‘Look, I just think you need to be careful. Not get too emotionally involved. You know?’
    The car in front has moved off, sputtering black smoke in its wake, and I follow, keeping a safe distance in case the thing explodes.
    ‘Leah?’
    ‘Yeah. No, I know. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.’
    And she is gone. I suppress a sigh. So much for softly-softly.
    I pull into the car park that skirts the modern high-rise that Dominic and his partner called home. Gulls dip and glide towards the grey waters of Cardiff Bay, its colour matching the sky, hard to split the two apart. Seems like it is closer to midnight than to noon. As I climb from the car, cross towards the apartment building, I listen to the birds caw, think that for the rest of my life, whenever I think about this murder, I’m going to think about those damn gulls.
    I stand for longer than I should, staring at the rows of doorbells. One button up, one button down, and someone else’s world is changed for ever. But not today.
    I press the buzzer for Dominic and Isaac’s apartment.
    One beat. Two.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘DS Finn Hale. I’m going to need to speak with you.’
    Is this the moment? These words, are they enough for Isaac to know that his world will never be the same again? A long silence. An ‘okay’. The buzz of the door unlocking itself.
    I grasp the handle. Here we go.
    As Isaac opens the door, I know that he knows. Maybe not the specifics, what particular catastrophe I have brought to him. But I can see the fear.
    I say the words, quickly, like that will make it any easier, pulling off a plaster to minimise the pain.
    It doesn’t work, not with death.
    Isaac sits with his head in his hands. His fingers dig into his dark hair like they are looking for a way to burrow through the scalp, tear out the news I brought him. He is crying, but it is a silent cry, marked with the tremor of shoulders, a sudden gasping intake of breath.
    The apartment is large, immaculate, floor-to-ceiling windows that give out on to the grey of the bay. From somewhere, I hear a radio, music playing, a reminder of an easier time. And of course, those damn gulls.
    I sit next to him on the long leather sofa.
    ‘This can’t be happening.’
    ‘I’m