‘Someone just phoned in to report a murder,’ he said.

Susan felt the adrenalin flow. She grasped the receiver tighter. ‘Where?’

‘Oakwood Mews. You know, those tarted-up bijou terraces at the back of King Street.’

‘I know them. Any details?’

‘Not much. It was a neighbour who called. Said the woman next door went rushing into the street screaming. She took her in, but couldn’t get much sense out of her except that her friend had been murdered.’

‘Did the neighbour take a look for herself?’

‘No. She said she thought she’d better call us right away.’

‘Can you send PC Tolliver down there?’ Susan asked ‘Tell him to check out the scene without touching anything. And tell him to stay by the door and not let anyone in till we get there.’

‘Aye,’ said Rowe, ‘but shouldn’t-’

‘What’s the number?’

‘Eleven.’

‘Right.’

Susan hung up. Her heart beat fast. Nothing had happened in Eastvale for months – and now, on only her second day on the new job, a murder. And she was the only member of the CID on duty that evening. Calm down, she told herself, follow procedure, do it right. She reached for her coat, still damp with snow, then hurried out the back way to the car park. Shivering, she swept the snow off the windscreen of her red Golf and drove off as fast as the bad weather allowed.

TWO

Four and twenty virgins

Came down from Inverness,

And when the ball was over

There were four and twenty less.

‘I think Jim’s a bit pissed,’ Detective Chief Inspector Alan Banks leaned over and said to his wife, Sandra.

Sandra nodded. In a corner of the Eastvale Rugby Club banquet room, by the Christmas tree, Detective Sergeant Jim Hatchley stood with a group of cronies, all as big and brawny as himself.