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Italian parentage; the worry she had added herself. Her eyes looked sunken, hollow, like a ghost waiting to be brought back to life. Once she had resigned herself to the baby she had hoped it would do that. Four months in and it hadn’t. She was beginning to doubt that it ever would. She needed something else.

    She checked her watch, stamped her feet. The cab driver had said goodbye to his tip.

    From within her bag, her mobile rang.

    Sighing, she extracted her hand from her coat, went to answer it. ‘Yes.’

    ‘Marina? Marina Esposito?’

    She knew that voice. It took her a few seconds to place, but she did it. And gave an involuntary gasp. DCI Ben Fenwick. She exhaled slowly.

    ‘Ben Fenwick?’

    ‘Yes, Marina, hi. Sorry to bother you. I need to talk to you.’

    ‘Oh.’ She looked round. And there in front of her was Martin Fletcher. Advancing on her, features twisted by hate.

    She screwed her eyes up tight, opened them again. Nothing but the cold car park, the missing cab. The faint sounds of screaming children in the background. Martin Fletcher had gone. But Ben Fenwick’s voice was still on the phone.

    ‘Marina? You still there?’

    ‘Yes . . . yes, Ben. I’m still here.’

    ‘Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’

    That was all she needed to hear and immediately the barrier was back up. ‘Look, I’m . . . I’m busy. Can we do this another time?’

    ‘I’m afraid not. We’ve got a problem.’

    ‘What kind?’

    He sighed. ‘The worst kind.’

    She wanted to push the button, end the call. Get into her cab - if it ever arrived - and forget Ben Fenwick had phoned. Instead she said, ‘What kind of problem?’

    ‘A new case has come up and we need help.Your help.’ He paused as if thinking over what to say next. ‘Look, I realise this may be difficult for you . . .’

    She saw Martin Fletcher advancing towards her out of the corner of her eye again, felt blind, trapped panic rise in her chest. She blinked him away, breathed deeply.

    She kept her voice low, contained. ‘What is it?’

    ‘It’s . . . it’s not really the kind of thing we can discuss over the phone. Best if we talk in person.’

    She felt a shiver run through her. Say no. Say no. Say no . ‘Okay. Where . . .’

    ‘I’ll get a car sent to pick you up.’

    ‘When?’

    ‘No time like the present.’

    ‘But I’m . . . busy. Clients ...’The words sounded weak, even to her ears.

    Fenwick sighed, evidently thinking again. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but with all due respect, Marina, I think when you hear what I’ve got to say, you may find it takes precedence.’

    She said nothing, thought. He took her silence as a need for more explanation, reassurance.

    ‘Look, I’m sorry about what happened before. We all are. It was horrific, unacceptable. Totally. If there was . . . if we could have done things differently . . .’

    ‘Not your fault,’ she said, her voice small and unconvincing.

    He sounded relieved. ‘It won’t be like that this time. I promise. I give you my word.’

    Despite everything she felt a slight thrill at Fenwick’s words. Perhaps enough time had passed to want to get away from the office. Like childbirth, she thought with a grim smile, the memory of the pain dissipates so you can go through it again.

    ‘Okay, send the car. Give me a couple of hours.’

    ‘Can you come quicker? It really is urgent.’

    ‘Right away then. I’m standing outside Leisure World. Tell the driver to hurry. It’s freezing here.’

    ‘Thank you, Marina. He’ll find you.’

    She put the phone away while he was still thanking her. Smiled to herself. Didn’t even attempt to suppress the thrill that ran through her. Whatever they wanted her for must be bad, she thought. Psychosexual deviance was what she specialised in.

    Another shudder went through her. Phil. She would be working with Phil.

    She had tried to put him out of her mind. Concentrate on her life with Tony,