The moonlight drifts in silently from the dark sky and onto the light wooden blinds that hang at each of the three windows in the narrow room. Outside, the streets are tranquil, radiating the heat of the August day that ended a few hours before.

The previous night he was in an accident. Ran over a homeless guy. She listens to a man fabricating at least some of the things he’s telling her. The human frailty of lying.

Ferraud kneels down next to the dead man’s head. His face is squashed into the dirt. The policeman gradually lowers himself towards the ground, trying to see more of the man without moving him. His nose is nearly touching the earth when the penny drops.

Suddenly a door is thrown open from the building next to the vehicle, a man and a woman step out into the pool of the streetlight.

She knows she is being watched through the camera in the corner. She waits. If they hadn’t taken her laptop and phone, she would be trying to find background on what this could be about.

The wine and the blood from a cut on his head mix into a new red that drips onto the hard, grey floor.

Tell me about your business,” she says. “Everyone loves flowers, and I discovered people are willing to pay huge sums for that love.

Olivia’s arms are suddenly heavy from holding herself up, she takes the rungs one at a time and drops as quickly as she can. Her legs are shaking. The last section of the ladder to ground level is missing for security, she reaches the last step and looks down.

She walks to the white board and wheels it round to face him. She writes ‘Motive’ and ‘Suspects’ at the top of the board. She doesn’t turn to look at him but knows his eyes are burning.