“Sevenish, I would imagine. Kate Ling doesn’t seem to need sleep. Exists on a combination of coffee and formaldehyde fumes,” said Deveney. “But she’s good, and we were lucky to get her on the scene tonight.” As Gemma rejoined them, Deveney included her with a quick smile. “Listen, why don’t you send your driver back to London with your car. I’ve made arrangements to put you up at the local-you did come prepared to stay?” When they nodded, he continued. “Good. We’ll send someone to take you to the mortuary in the morning. And then-” He broke off as a plainclothes officer beckoned him from the mudroom door. With a sigh he pushed off from the wall. “Back in a tick.”

“I’ll see to Williams,” said Gemma a little too quickly, and left Kincaid standing alone. For a few moments he watched the technicians and the photographer, then he edged around their work area until he reached the refrigerator. Opening it, he bent over and examined the contents. Milk, juice, eggs, butter, and, tucked haphazardly onto the bottom shelf, a package of fresh pasta and a plastic container of Alfredo sauce, bearing the Sainsbury deli’s seal. Neither container had been opened.

“I found some bread and cheese. Made the ladies some sandwiches,” said a voice above his head.

Kincaid stood and turned, and still found himself looking up at the rosy-cheeked visage of Police Constable Darling. “Ah, the minder,” he murmured, then at the constable’s blank look he added more loudly, “Very thoughtful of you…” He couldn’t quite bring himself to add the surname.

“Add hunger to shock and exhaustion and they’d have been in a right state,” Darling said seriously, “and there didn’t seem to be anyone else to look after them.”

“No, you’re quite right. Usually, helpful and nosy neighbors materialize out of the woodwork in this sort of situation. Relatives too, as often as not.”