'I should imagine there's a single methanol in the labs.'

'That'll do nicely,' said Andy Dalziel. v

Peter Pascoe could have done without the funeral meats but felt he'd gone as far as he dared in disrupting his sister's arrangements. In fact it worked out rather well as under the influence of cups of tea and salmon sandwiches the wrinkly clones turned into amiable, intelligent individuals, several of them well below retirement age. Some even went out of their way to compliment him on his address, saying how pleased Ada would have been with the service and how much they'd like something like that when their turn came.

Myra clearly took all this in because when they'd waved the stragglers goodbye, she said, 'OK, so as usual you were right.'

He smiled at her but she wasn't ready for that yet, and turned back into the old cottage which had been Ada's home for fifty years.

'Only room for one in that kitchen,' she said. 'I'll do the washing up. You can carry on with your inventory.'

When she came back into the living room, he was manoeuvring an old mahogany secretaire through the doorway.

'You're taking that old thing then?'

'Yes. I thought I'd get it on the roof rack now so I can make a quick getaway in the morning. Don't worry. It's on the inventory. I'll get it valued and make sure it goes into the estate.'

'I didn't mean that… oh think what you will, you always did.'

She turned away, angry and hurt.

Oh shit, thought Pascoe. Whatever happened to old silver tongue?

He reached out and caught her arm and said, 'Sorry. I was talking like an executor. Maybe a bit like a cop too. Listen, you don't have to say anything but anything you do say will be taken down.'

She stared at him blankly and for a second he thought she'd forgotten the grubby little schoolboy joke he'd tried to embarrass her with all those years ago.