Doctor Hardisty, a rangy, middle-aged man whose unruly grey hair gave him a permanently distraught look, met Pascoe at the kitchen door. They had encountered once already at Brookside Cottage.

'You all right?' he now asked diffidently.

'Fine,' said Pascoe. It wasn't altogether a lie. The act of signing the coolly formulated statement had produced a temporary catharsis. Momentarily the morning's discoveries had been reduced to the status of a 'case'. He even found himself prompted to question the doctor about his examination of the bodies, but decided against it. Hardisty was the local man, living and practising in the village. By now the bodies would be on their way to the mortuary and the probing knife of the pathologist.

By now Timmy and Carlo and Rose would be on their way…

He nipped the thought off smartly.

'Miss Soper?' he asked. 'How is she?'

'Resting upstairs. I've given her something.'

'May I see her?'

'If she's awake. It's straight ahead on the landing.'

Pascoe turned and began to climb the stairs.

Ellie opened her eyes as he came through the door. Her dress was draped tidily over a chair and she lay under a patchwork quilt in her slip.

'OK, love?' said Pascoe, taking her hand.

'Doped to the back teeth,' she said. 'I don't want to sleep. It's always worse remembering when you wake up.'

'You've got to sleep,' he said gently. The sight of her lying there so palely moved him almost as deeply as the discovery of the three corpses had done.

She nodded as though he had performed some feat of subtle persuasion, and closed her eyes. But as he opened the door to leave, she spoke again.

'Peter,' she said. 'Where's Colin? He's got to be told.'

'It's all in hand,' he said reassuringly. 'Sleep now.'