“I should hope so,” she answered and looked away. But not before he thought he saw her lips curve in a smile.

A half hour later they left the A road at Abinger Hammer, and after a few miles of twisting and turning down a narrow lane, they entered the sleepy village of Holmbury St. Mary. Williams pulled onto the verge and consulted a scribbled sheet of directions under the map light. “When the road curves left we stay straight on, just to the right of the pub,” he muttered as he put the car into gear again.

“There,” said Kincaid, wiping condensation from his window with the sleeve of his coat. “This must be it.”

Turning to look out her window, Gemma said, “Look. I’ve never seen that particular sign before.” He heard the pleasure in her voice.

Kincaid leaned across her just in time to catch a glimpse of a swinging pub sign showing two lovers silhouetted against a smiling moon. Then he felt Gemma’s breath against his cheek and caught the faint scent of peaches that always seemed to hover about her. He sat back quickly and turned his attention ahead.

The lane narrowed past the pub, and the blue flashing of the panda cars’ lights lit the scene with an eerie radiance. Williams brought their car to a halt several yards back from the last car and almost against the right-hand hedge, making allowance, Kincaid guessed, for the passing of the coroner’s van. They slid from the car, stretching their cramped legs and huddling closer into their coats as the November chill struck them. A low mist hung in the still air, and plumes of condensation formed before their faces as they breathed.

A constable materialized before them in the lane, Cheshire Cat-like, the white checks on his hatband creating a snaggle-toothed smile. Kincaid identified them, then peered through the gate from which the constable had come, trying to make out features in the dark bulk of the house.