‘Diane,’ he said when she entered his office, ‘we’ve had a call from the Forensic Science Service.’

‘A result?’

‘Well, no. More of a complaint, actually.’

She sat down without waiting to be invited. ‘What’s the matter with them?’

‘Apparently, their fire investigation specialist, a Mr, er …’

‘Downie.’

‘Yes, that’s it. He seems to feel you didn’t get off on the right foot at Darwin Street. His boss gave me some stuff about co-operation and all pulling in the same direction. Do you know what he’s on about?’

‘Downie’s a bit of a pillock,’ said Fry.

Hitchens couldn’t help grinning. ‘Civilians, eh? Who let them into the equation?’

‘Right.’

‘Well, could you try to get on a bit better while you have to work with him? It would help relations all round.’

‘I can do that.’

‘Great. We’ve got to keep on side with our partners. It doesn’t do any good to get “unco-operative” on your record, I can tell you.’

Watching Hitchens, Fry guessed that he was starting to find the job of DI unsatisfactory. The hours were long, the responsibility more and more onerous. And he must be reflecting that the increase in pay from a DS wasn’t worth the hassle.

‘So how’s the fire enquiry going generally, Diane?’

‘The dog got a hit, as you know. And this morning the FSS confirmed the presence of accelerant – butane, just like the lighter fluid can the search team found. It’s a triple suspicious death, sir.’

‘Oh, brilliant.’ Hitchens spun anxiously in his chair. ‘Do you have any potential suspects?’

‘I favour the husband quite strongly. There’s no one else in the picture, so far as I can see. There’s a possibility of forced entry, but that could be a blind. The Mullens don’t seem like a family anyone would have a grudge against.’

‘So once you get a full report from the FSS, you’ll be looking to build a case against the husband?’

‘Unless he eliminates himself pretty quickly,’ said Fry. ‘And I’d be surprised if he manages to do that. I’m going to work on his alibi, and take a look at his relationship with his wife. I know there’s been at least one public row between them recently.’

‘After the meeting, we’ll brief the DCI together,’ said Hitchens. ‘I can tell you, Diane, he won’t be thrilled.’

The big news at West Street before the morning briefing was that two enquiry teams were being formed, and the Rose Shepherd shooting was to be a joint operation with A Division. At least the NCOF wasn’t getting in on the action.

‘A Division?’ said Murfin. ‘A for Alfreton, Arse End of the Universe? They’ll be down to two men and a dog, and not for the first time.’

‘There’ll be some monthly targets missed, that’s for sure,’ said Cooper.

‘Ah, well. Achieving a lot with a little,’ said Murfin cheerfully.

‘Gavin, just repeating the Chief Super’s catchphrase all the time doesn’t help.’

The conference room was packed for the meeting, with many officers pulled in from elsewhere to beef up the enquiry teams. Cooper saw Diane Fry come in and sit on the front row, with Wayne Abbott on one side of her and a CPS prosecutor on the other. From her body language, she seemed not to have noticed either of them. At one point, the lawyer leaned past her to speak to the crime-scene manager. Fry never even blinked, let alone took any part in their conversation. Cooper shook his head, perplexed. Fry’s ability to be alone in a crowded room never failed to amaze him.

‘First of all, we’ve had no luck tracing the Vauxhall Astra,’ said Hitchens when the briefing got under way. ‘Besides, it appears the Astra was never in the field behind the victim’s house anyway.’

A scatter of groans and mutterings followed this announcement, as a potential lead seemed to slip away.

‘Forensics tell us the tracks were made by something bigger than an Astra. More weight, wider tyres. And four-wheel drive.’

Murfin rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, and Cooper knew what he was thinking. At one time, someone would have made that assessment at a glance. But now, everyone was cautious. The tests had to be gone through, even if they took two days to reach the same conclusion.

‘We don’t have any reports of a vehicle like that, do we?’ said someone.

‘What sort of tyres?’ added another voice.

‘We’ll get a match on the tread,’ put in Abbott. ‘It just takes a bit more time.’

‘Back to the drawing board, then.’

Hitchens was trying not to let his shoulders slump. ‘We’re starting to get a picture of the victim’s movements on the afternoon before she died. We’re concentrating on two people that Rose Shepherd met in Matlock Bath. The descriptions from the waitress who served them are pretty vague, but we’ll ask her to have a go at some e-fits, and there’ll be more appeals in the media. Those two could be important – they’re the only people we know of who had contact with Miss Shepherd that day.’

He turned to the board, where photographs of the dead woman were displayed.

‘Meanwhile, the victim herself remains a mystery. What we’ve got here is a woman who kept herself to herself in an extreme way. She had as little contact with people in Foxlow as she could possibly manage, and we’ve found almost nothing of a personal nature in her house that could lead us to anyone who knew her. That’s got to be deliberate.’

‘You think so?’

‘I can’t believe that it’s accidental. We’ve gone through all her papers: bank statements, phone bills, any personal correspondence we can find – which isn’t much. We finally located a diary, but it’s only one of those little pocket-size appointment diaries. We’re checking all the entries in her address book. There’s always a possibility that some of the entries are coded or camouflaged in some way. Most of all, we need to trace anyone who ever dealt with Miss Shepherd, particularly if they visited Bain House and actually met her.’

‘We’re not likely to find a Christmas card list, I suppose?’

‘No such luck, sorry. Judging by her phone records, Miss Shepherd doesn’t seem to have had many friends – not unless they worked at the local garage or the GP’s surgery in Matlock. Those seem to be the places she phoned most often. Apart from that, there are just a couple of puzzlers …’

Hitchens paused, perhaps for dramatic effect.

‘Firstly, the victim’s phone records for the past three weeks show two calls to the same public phone box, which turns out to be in a rural location in Bonsall Dale. Obviously, if you’re going to phone someone in an isolated call box, it would have to be by prior arrangement.’

There was a bit of fidgeting around the room, but no one could suggest a reason why Rose Shepherd should have been ringing a call box. A random call, perhaps, hoping to make contact

with a complete stranger to talk to? Who could say?

‘Does 359 figure in the number of the call box?’ asked Cooper.

‘Good question. The answer is no. Secondly,’ said Hitchens, ‘there are a couple of diary entries which refer to someone with the initials SN. There was an entry in her address book too, but it had been crossed out.’

‘If we can still read the number …’

‘It’s another unregistered pay-as-you-go mobile.’

‘This woman is unnatural.’

‘Well, let’s not get downhearted. I’ve saved the good news for last. We do have a couple of possibilities, which will be prioritized today. Number one, there’s the victim’s GP. He’s away at the moment, but at least he should be able to confirm an ID when he gets back, and he might have some information for us, if he ever talked to Miss Shepherd properly. Number two, there’s the estate agent who handled the house sale. We found the name of the firm in the victim’s phone book – Windsor and Ellis. They’re checking their records to see who dealt with Miss Shepherd, and whether that person still works there. Presumably there would have been a solicitor involved, too, when she bought Bain House, though there’s no sign of any lawyers in the address book.’