Looking closely, Kincaid thought he detected fragments of skull in the blood-matted hair, but no crescent shapes. “I’ll take your word for it, Doctor. Any defense wounds?”

“Not that I’ve found so far. All right with you if I have him moved now? The sooner I get him on the table, the more we’ll know.”

“It’s your call, Doc.” Kincaid stood up.

“The photographer and the scene-of-crime lads would like to move the live bodies out as well,” said Deveney, “so they can get on with things.”

“Right.” Kincaid turned to him. “Can you fill me in on what you’ve got so far? Then I’d like to see the family.”

“Claire Gilbert and her daughter came home around half past seven. They’d been away several hours, doing some shopping in Guildford. Mrs. Gilbert parked the car in the garage as usual, but as they came across the back garden towards the house they saw that the back door stood open. When they entered the kitchen they found the commander.” Deveney nodded at the body. “Once she’d ascertained there wasn’t a pulse, Mrs. Gilbert called us.”

“In a nutshell,” said Kincaid, and Deveney smiled. “So what’s the theory? Did the wife do it?”

“There’s nothing to suggest they had a fight-nothing broken, no marks on her. And the daughter says they were shopping. Besides-” Deveney paused. “Well, wait till you meet her. I’ve had her check the house, and she says she can’t find a few items of jewelry. There have been a few thefts reported in the area recently. Petty things.”

“No suspects in the thefts?”

Deveney shook his head.

“All right, then. Where are the Gilberts?”