I woke up the next morning tangled in my bedsheets and Alex's limbs. Smiling, I let my eyelids flutter shut again, savouring the moment with him. His chest was warm and firm against my back, his arm thrown around me possessively. He smelled of sex.

He shifted in his sleep, and a weight I hadn't noticed before lifted from our ankles. I cracked my eyes open. Mitzy was standing on the bed, and she held my gaze without blinking.

Alex opened his eyes. "Good morning."

Mitzy jumped into the gap between us, purring.

I scoffed softly. "She sees I'm awake and she gives me a death stare. Then you wake up and she wants a cuddle!"

"It's my charm." A mischievous smile shaped his lips, and my heart flipped. "We're best friends now."

They practically were. Alex had once been wary of my cat, but as the months had rolled by and he'd started sleeping over at my flat, he'd slowly got used to her. In return, he'd become her favourite person.

He stroked Mitzy with long fingers, and she purred louder. I watched her with a small amount of jealousy.

Alex looked up with dark eyes that suggested he knew it, and he reached across to cup my cheek. "I think you'd better leave the room, Mitzy."

Before we could ruin her innocence, my tabphone alarm screeched. I shut it off with a groan. "Time's up. We need to get ready for work."

"There's always later." Alex slipped from beneath the covers and sauntered to the bathroom, leaving me to stare after him.

While he showered, I got dressed and made buttered toast for two. We hadn't eaten dinner the night before, so I devoured my portion in two minutes flat.

Alex came into the kitchen wearing a suit that had, at some undetermined stage, moved into my wardrobe. While he lounged against a counter to eat, I searched high and low for a chocolate bar to finish tackling the gnawing in my stomach. Unfortunately, I'd left the only supply I had back at our office.

I sighed as I closed the final kitchen cupboard. "I'm starving. That's the last of my bread, and all my cereal has vanished."

Alex smiled, knowing full well that he was the reason why my food was diminishing at twice the speed it had used to. "Don't they sell chocolate muffins at Rise & Grinder?"

I cast my mind back to the food display at my new favourite coffee shop. "Yes. Let's go."

The city was quiet so early on a Sunday morning, but even on my little road, the air hung thick with the smell of booze and cigarettes. Oh, Saturday nights.

We ascended the first metal staircase we found to the higher pathways. When we reached the top, Alex took my hand. "So, what's our first move this morning?"

A drunk woman with neon pink hair staggered past, looking like she was only just making her way home after an all-night party. I lowered my voice. "You don't have any updates from the PRBs about the news reports?"

"No. Radio silence."

"Damn. They must not have found anything useful." I followed him up to the next landing, trying not to get left in the dust. "We'll make personal enquiries about Janet's past."

By the time we reached the highest walkway, we were both panting. No wonder Rise & Grinder always looked like it was struggling for funds -- getting there was a terrible workout with no caffeine in my system. Coffee Glitch, by comparison, was much less taxing on the thigh muscles.

But Rise & Grinder was not a bad place, even though it looked like one. It was marked by a flicking neon sign over a door hanging off its hinges. Inside, the full-length windows were speckled with dust, and scratched steel tables for two stood beside them. Synthwave music played over tinny speakers for customers who largely weren't there.

The name of the shop suggested that the owners had once hoped to draw in a young and hip crowd of body-hackers with glowing eyes and silver fingers, but the only patron was a middle-aged man ordering at the counter ahead of us. A low-definition screen displaying a menu was mounted on the wall, but I paid it no mind. I could smell the fresh chocolate muffins already.

While we waited, I turned to look at the view. Rise & Grinder was worth the climb because you could see a huge portion of Socrico from its windows. Skyscrapers scrambled to get taller and taller before me, while trains whizzed past not so far above.

The family who ran the shop were lovely, too. The owner was a man named Merrick, and his children often helped out as baristas. He had two boys and a girl: Cadium, Indigo, and Emz. Indigo and Emz were sixteen-year-old twins who would be starting college in September, but Cadium was free from education and working out what to do next. At his request, I'd spoken to him in great detail about the police force, and the last I'd heard was that he'd applied to the local police academy. I was crossing my fingers for him.

My tabphone buzzed, and I dragged my gaze from the view to look at the screen. I had a message from Nina Howell, my best friend.

The Trials?! YOU HAVE TO TELL ME EVERYTHING!

I typed a quick promise to do so as the customer in front of us received his order and left. Then I stepped forward, glueing my eyes to the chocolate muffins below the counter. "Hi. Can I have two double espressos and two chocolate muffins, please?"

There was an awkward pause. Then a clear, careful voice said, "Yes. Are you eating in or taking them away?"

My head snapped up, and I met the gaze of Lonn's niece, Frankie Jarsdel. Her dark, brittle hair was scraped away from her head, and she was dressed in a grey blazer and t-shirt.

She smiled stiffly. "Good morning, Inspector."

"Morning. I didn't realise you worked here. Taking away, please."

"This is my first day." She shrugged and picked up a cardboard coffee cup. It was just brown -- they didn't print moving images on them here. "I realised that my allowance from Janet will be smaller now, so I'll need a job if I want the money to party on a weekend. And the owner needed someone desperately."

I frowned. "What's happened to Cadium? Did he get into the police academy?"

Frankie looked at me blankly. "I guess so, if it's his place I'm filling. Please pay for your order using the eye-scanner at the end of the counter."

I moved down to the counter and paid, Alex following me like a shadow. Frankie completed the rest of our order. She laid our coffees on the counter first, then put two chocolate muffins in a recycled paper bag and thrust it at me. We left.

Outside, I bit into a chocolate muffin. "That was weird. Her uncle died on Thursday, and she's already decided to be practical and get a job for party money. And there's something about her attitude..."

Alex sipped his coffee with a deep frown, looking very much like a brooding artist. Or, as he was looking so sexy in his suit, a sophisticated billionaire. Although his earpiece possibly ruined that picture. "She's not grieving. She won't miss him. Whatever remorse she briefly showed us when we first met her was an act."

"Maybe she was just putting in an appearance at all those family dinners because of the allowance they paid her. Perhaps later --"

Alex's earpiece buzzed. We stopped at the top of the stairs, and he tapped it twice to answer the call. I watched him like a hawk.

"Sullivan speaking." His eyes narrowed as he listened to the caller, who could only be a PRB if they weren't consulting me.

I scarfed my muffin and made gestures for him to hurry up, not that he could do anything about it.

Eventually, he said, "Take a photo of Exhibit 23B. Send it to my tabphone." Then he ended the call.

I passed him the remaining chocolate muffin. "What was that about? What do you need a photo of Janet's letter for?"

He shifted the muffin and coffee cup into one hand and turned me around by the shoulder. "I know we should really have our spyware on for this, but we need to talk to Frankie. The PRBs finally found something -- one small news report. Two years ago, Frankie had a boyfriend named Paris Abel. He went missing. It was a quiet affair because he was a 'reckless boy' who had a track record of running away from home. He never returned."

I quickened my pace. "Okay, maybe we're getting somewhere. Someone thinks Lonn and Janet killed Paris. Someone like Frankie."

We jogged across the rattling metal pathway and burst back into Rise & Grinder.

Frankie was still behind the counter, typing on her tabphone. She looked up and scowled. "What are you --"

"We'd like a word, please," I said. "It's important."

Alex put his own tabphone in front of her, a photo of the letter displayed on the screen. "Do you recognise this?"

It seems to be human nature to revert to denial as soon as things look black against you. Everything, however small, that a person perceives might be taken the wrong way is covered up, argued against, or played down when we question them. But when Frankie's gaze landed on the screen, she did the unexpected.

She burst into tears. "Yes, I wrote it."

"Frankie," I said, "I think it would be best if you accompanied us to the station."

***

Half an hour later, Alex and I were sitting in an interview room with Frankie Jarsdel, suited up in our spyware. We now had the real version of Janet's letter, so once I'd said what I needed to for the official cameras, I slid it across the table. "Frankie, do you confirm that you wrote this?"

Her nonplussed mask was back. "Yes."

I left it in front of her because I'd committed the words to memory. Janet, did you think it was all over now that I've gone beyond the grave? We have not been silenced. Whispers can pass through the veil, and fear will not stop me from telling the truth now. The world will know what we did to him. And what you did to me. Once, a murderer. Twice, a monster. Love, Your Dearly Deceased Lonn.

"Could you explain why, please?" I asked.

She scowled. "Janet must have helped them to kill Paris."

"Them?"

"My mother and Lonn. I know for certain that they killed Paris. I just can't work out where they put him."

"How do you know they killed him?" I asked cautiously.

"Because of this." She delved into the handbag at her feet and drew out a real paper notebook, leather-bound. "My mother's diary. She only covers one topic in these pages."

She dropped it on the table, and the whole structure shook. I exchanged a curious look with Alex and peeled back the front cover.

Saturday 21st August 2184

I helped to kill a man today.

No, not a man. He was just a boy. Sixteen.

I asked Lonn to scare him because I knew that he hit Frankie. I recognised the signs. But she always denied it and said that she loved him. I couldn't persuade her to leave him. So I did the next best thing.

What I thought was the next best thing.

I asked Lonn to put the fear of God in him. But Paris was the Devil.

It all got out of hand.

In the corner of my eye, Alex's jaw tightened. Sixteen. The age of his cousin when she'd been murdered.

I flipped through the pages, scanning rambling passages detailing Mrs Jarsdel's guilt and the consequential grief of Frankie as she realised that it was highly unlikely her missing boyfriend was going to come home. It was like a hundred visits to a confession box gathered together on paper. "When did you get this?"

"After my mother died, when I was sorting through her things." Frankie's lips thinned. "I'm glad she's dead. I hate her."

"Why didn't you bring this to us right away?"

"I wanted Lonn convicted, but I knew that this wasn't enough. I didn't want to bring it and then be laughed away. I had to bring it when I was ready."

"Is there any mention of Janet?" I reached the end of the notebook and skimmed through it again, backwards. Her name didn't jump out at me.

"No."

"So why do you think she was involved?" Alex asked.

Frankie spread her hands. "She's his wife! She must have known, and that makes her a murderer, too. Lonn never had a drinking problem until he killed Paris. It was a sign of his guilt -- and guilty people say things." She hesitated. "Or so I thought."

"What was the letter supposed to do?" I asked. "Scare her? Or warn her that she would be next?"

Frankie frowned. "Next?"

"Did you kill your uncle?"

Her mouth fell open. "No! I wanted legal justice. I wanted the world to know what he'd done. I just needed a bit more time. There was something -- something I was trying to work out. The route to Paris' body. If I'd found him before Lonn's death, I would have turned the diary in." She pointed at another passage. "Look, there's a riddle."

Start at the houses for the bright where flames are fanned or snuffed. Follow the path of fate to the vault of the highest prestige. Turn westward until you arrive in a land of dogs' sabatons. Walk thirty paws down a tunnel of jaws to reach the tears of the underground. There he lies, in chains.

I passed the book back. "And you think it's a route to Paris' body?"

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze cool. "What else would it be?"

"A bluff," Alex said. "Why would she want the body to be found?"

"Because she felt guilty! That's why she wrote all of this."

"Not guilty enough to turn herself in." Alex looked at the diary with disgust. "Or write in plain language where they put him."

Had Frankie been a deer, I think she would have leaned across the table and locked horns with my sergeant.

"Have you worked any of the clues out?" I asked.

"Most of them." She flipped her hair over her shoulders. "'Start at the houses for the bright where flames are fanned or snuffed.' That has to be a university. Initially, I thought it meant Socrico University, but the clue after that only makes sense if it's being literal and talking about Bright Light. You led a murder inquiry in February that involved a girl who died there ages ago, right? Ripley Lewis. So I thought she was a snuffed flame, and the people who go on to be successful are fanned."

"Okay," I said. "And the next clue?"

"'Follow the path of fate to the vault of the highest prestige.' A vault of prestige sounds like a successful bank, and if you were to follow a path of fate from Bright Light University to one of the most prestigious banks in the city, you would go to Duty Bank. It's the one Zed Croft used to run. He's an example of a flame who was fanned at the university."

"And the final clues?" Alex asked.

"I don't know." Frankie's shoulders slumped. "'Turn westward until you arrive in a land of dogs' sabatons. Walk thirty paws down a tunnel of jaws to reach the tears of the underground. There he lies, in chains.'"

"I know." I traced my finger over the instructions. "Iron Paws Vets is to the west of Duty Bank -- that's the land of dogs' sabatons. And there's an alleyway nearby with brutal canine graffiti. That's the tunnel of jaws."

Frankie was frowning. "Iron Paws Vets? I tried looking up all the vets in the city, but I've never heard of that one."

"They don't have an online presence," I admitted. "The owner happens to be as terrible with technology as me..."

Alex almost smiled.

I stood up. "There's a shallow stream at the end of the alley, so I suppose we'd better go and have a look at it. Come on, both of you."

Frankie stared at me. "You mean -- you're not..."

"Holding you here?" I tucked the diary under my arm. "Frankie, I'm very interested in you. But your letter isn't much evidence in the English courts. So, no." I turned away. "It's time to close a different case."

***

Iron Paws Vets was close enough for us to walk to. Frankie insisted on leading the way, following my spoken instructions as Alex and I followed behind. For now, it was just the three of us -- I wanted to check out the scene before we called anyone in to drag the river. My memory of the alley and what lay beyond it was a little fogged.

Frankie's stride slowed as we passed the neon sign for Iron Paws Vets, hardly noticeable in the summer light. I fell into step beside her. "Can you see the mouth of the alleyway ahead?"

The scene around us didn't seem to ring true to our situation. In the daylight, the street brought the word quiet to mind rather than deserted, and the gap opening up between the skyscrapers didn't look like much. Artificial sunlight glinted off the windows around us, and while there was no breeze, the air was perfect in temperature. But a grave atmosphere had fallen over us. If what Mrs Jarsdel had written was true, we were very close to Paris Abel.

"I see it." Frankie looked back at me. "That's the tunnel of jaws?"

"Yes." I brushed past her. "I'll take the lead now. Sergeant Sullivan will bring up the rear."

We turned into the alley. It was covered over and so narrow that you couldn't swing a rat around by its tail -- although rats had certainly been down there because it stank of their excrement. Naked lamps screwed into the ceiling shone harsh spotlights on the graffiti. Pit bulls tore children apart and Dobermans bared their bloodied jaws. KILL THE DOGS and SAVE YOUR FAMILY WITH MECHANICALS were splashed across the walls.

We emerged in a courtyard the size of a cardboard box. It was surrounded by chain-link fences, separating it from the neighbouring buildings and making it unclear which one, if any of them, it had once belonged to. Clearly, none used it now. Not even a skip occupied the space.

A narrow stream was running horizontally to us, curving between the buildings. Though the current was feeble, I saw that it was deep. We fanned out and approached it. When we were just a few metres away, my boots slipped on the wet stones.

Alex caught me before I could plunge into the filthy water. "Amber! Are you trying to kill yourself?"

He put me on my feet again and kept his arm around my waist. Frankie watched the stream, her eyes dull. "He's somewhere down there. In that dirty water."

The stream bubbled gently as if it was trying to comfort her. He's safe with me.

Alex was the first to move. "I'll make the call."