‘Get forensics on to it,’ Jane said.

An hour later, she was heading back to HQ. Her boss had been woken up and was on his way there from his home. He would want a report. She would ask him for more officers. He would start doing the sums. Everything cost money, and even murder came with a budget attached. Jane parked in an empty bay, just as a police van was drawing up. People were singing inside. Drunks, probably, on their way to a night in the cells. She pushed open the door to the police station and went in. The desk sergeant nodded and waved.

‘Busy night?’ he guessed.

‘You heard about the shooting?’

He nodded. ‘Thought it was funny, actually…’

She stared at him. ‘Funny?’

‘Odd, I mean. You know that Ray Masters has links to George Renshaw?’

‘Bob told me.’

The desk sergeant smiled. ‘Well, Bob knows everything, doesn’t he?’

‘Meaning I don’t?’

‘You’re a quick learner, though, ma’am. So tell me this, who’s Don Empson?’

She walked towards him. ‘No idea,’ she confessed.

‘Only, we had him in here a few hours back. Patrol car picked him up in a graveyard. He spun them a story and we had to let him go.’

‘So who is he then?’ Jane asked.

‘He’s George Renshaw’s right-hand man, that’s who…’

Jane at the graveyard

As soon as it was daylight, Jane drove to the graveyard. The gates had been broken open. A chain and padlock lay on the ground next to them. The car was parked over towards a workman’s hut. Empson had said it wasn’t his. Fair enough. If he was telling the truth, his fingerprints wouldn’t be all over the inside. She’d got the licence plate number from the officers who’d found Empson. The computer had come up with an owner’s name and address, but the car had been sold by this man for spare parts.

Sold to George Renshaw. Now wasn’t that a coincidence?

It wasn’t much of a car. The paintwork was the only thing holding it together.