‘That’s so not fair,’ Vincent said, sounding like a sulky schoolboy. ‘You’ve done most of the work for them. You even got into a fight,’ he said admiringly to Trudy. ‘And to think, most of the time this was all going on, I was just sitting quietly in the library doing background research. Not very glamorous at all, is it?’ he added wryly.

Trudy, who had in truth forgotten that she’d handed over the completion of that thankless task to Vincent, felt an onrush of guilt. ‘It might not have been interesting, but basic legwork and painstaking attention to detail is the backbone of policing.’ She trotted out the saying that had been drummed into her throughout her training.

‘In that case, you’re welcome to it.’ Vincent grinned at her whilst handing over the notebook she’d given him, which contained the meagre fruit of his morning’s work.

Idly, Trudy began leafing through it.

Clement gazed fondly at his son. ‘I thought you didn’t approve of your old man playing sleuth?’ he teased. ‘You thought it was beneath my lofty talents to go poking around in criminal cases. Now you’re all indignant because we’ve been stopped in our tracks. Come on, admit it, you’re as hooked as I am.’

Vincent flashed him a sheepish smile. ‘All right, let’s say I can see the appeal now … Trudy? What is it?’ he suddenly asked sharply, causing his father to turn and look at her too.

Clement saw that Trudy had sat bolt upright, staring at a page of the notebook, a look of horror, uncertainty and a flash of excitement in her face.

‘Fairweather,’ Trudy said.

‘Huh?’ Vincent said.

But Clement felt only an answering flare of excitement race through his veins, because he’d seen that look on his young friend’s face before, and knew that it spelt something interesting, at the very least.

‘What if none of them did it?’ Trudy said, looking excitedly from father to son. ‘I mean, none of the ones who are at the station now? What if there was even something more going on at that party that night? Someone else who wanted Terry Parker dead?’

Chapter 32

Katherine Morton didn’t look particularly surprised to see them – not even Vincent, who had insisted on coming along despite having absolutely no worthwhile excuse to be there.

After they’d made their way to her flat once she’d buzzed them into the building, she simply stood in the door, gave the trio a brief, almost humorous glance, and then theatrically stepped to one side, making a sweeping gesture with her hand.

‘Come on in,’ she invited with smile. ‘I have mulled wine or iced vodka aplenty, depending on your preferences.’