‘All fairly straightforward?’ said the scientist.

‘Looks that way,’ agreed Bentley.

‘Shouldn’t take us long.’

‘Let’s get everything, just the same.’

‘We always do,’ said Billington, curtly.

‘I know,’ placated Bentley. Fucking prima donna, he thought. The room was becoming crowded, so he went into the outer corridor. From there he looked down into the trading room. Malcolm Rodgers, his inspector, had everyone seated at their terminal stations, giving statements to attentive constables. It really was straightforward. If it hadn’t been part of the routine there wouldn’t have been any reason for his even being there.

The pathologist scuffed out of the office and immediately began stripping off his protective suit. He smiled at Bentley and said, ‘Hewitt, Felix Hewitt.’

They shook hands. Bentley was a gaunt, tall man who towered over the medical examiner.

‘Multiple stab wounds and extensive lacerations,’ said the pathologist. ‘I won’t know until after the postmortem, obviously, but I’d say at least five would have been fatal. Quite a concentration around the heart area, as if she was specifically hitting him there. That and the face. A lot of cuts there, like she was determined to disfigure him.’

‘Hell hath no fury,’ said Bentley.

‘I haven’t got much on, so I can let you have a report by tomorrow.’

‘That’ll be fine.’

Rodgers emerged from the lift for which the doctor was waiting to descend. Looking down towards the trading floor Rodgers said, ‘First time I’ve known sixteen statements all saying the same thing in virtually the same words. This is going to be the easiest ever.’ The two had worked on eight of the previous murders and spent a lot of time together socially. Their wives liked each other.

‘No question about it,’ agreed Bentley.

‘It’ll be another woman.’

‘Guaranteed.’