If there was anything at all remarkable about this one it was that it was virtually over before it began, an open and shut domestic stabbing in full view of sixteen credible witnesses.

The only thing to do was organize the routine, find the motive when he found the mistress and hope she had a pretty face as well as big tits for the photographers. It would still count as a success on his record, which was all that really mattered.

The ambulance paramedic, leaving his partner applying the emergency dressings to Jennifer’s arm and hands, crossed towards Bentley. Gesturing down to the blood on his jacket the man said, ‘She’s badly cut. Needs suturing. And she’s in pretty deep shock.’ He rubbed at the bloodstains. ‘It’s a bastard getting this stuff off.’

Bentley looked towards the vacant-eyed woman. ‘Wouldn’t believe she was capable of it, would you?’

‘She did a pretty good job. The poor sod is cut and stabbed to buggery. Whatever he did, it upset her.’

A young pathologist whom Bentley didn’t know was bent over the body, mumbling into a hand-held tape recorder.

‘It’ll be sex. Classic syndrome,’ predicted Bentley. He turned to two policewomen in the outer corridor. ‘Go with her in the ambulance. I’ll come later.’

Jennifer allowed herself to be laid on the stretcher trolley and Bentley stood aside for her to be wheeled past him. Her eyes were closed but there was a faint smile on her face.

‘Call us when the body’s ready to be moved,’ said the ambulanceman as they went by.

Bentley nodded, staying to the side of the room for the overalled forensic team to enter. He recognized Anthony Billington at the head of the group: he’d worked with the obese man on three of the previous murders.