As Trudy stepped out of the passenger side, a young constable, looking miserable and perishing, stepped forward.

‘You my relief then?’ he asked hopefully, looking Trudy up and down without much favour. He was probably the same age as Rodney, and from the dismissive look in his eyes, shared Rodney’s opinion of women in the police force.

Trudy smiled wearily. ‘Inspector Jennings has asked me to do the preliminaries,’ she said brusquely and got out her notebook. As she began to take down the particulars from the local beat bobby, Clement approached the crashed car cautiously.

It was a Riley, he thought, and a path through the foot or so of snow surrounding it had already been cleared somewhat to the driver’s side door – probably by the constable who’d originally been called out to the scene.

He bent down and peered through the frosted glass of the door’s window. It was hard to see much, as the icy film on the glass distorted the picture of what lay within, but Clement could make out the bare details.

A man in a fashionable coat lay slumped forward, forehead resting on the steering wheel and looking, incongruously, as if he’d decided to just take a nap. His arm on the nearest side to where Clement was looking in, hung down by his side, his bare hand and fingers pale against the darker interior of the car. Clement’s own hands, clad in thick warm gloves, tingled in sympathy for their cold, blue nakedness.

The coroner knew that it had been well below freezing last night, but he’d have to get the exact temperature from the local meteorological people. If they could find out when the victim was last seen alive, it might be possible to make a fairly accurate guess at time of death.

He opened the door and crouched down, feeling a twinge in his lower back as he did so. Ignoring it, he peered closely at the dead man. Then he lifted his gloved right hand to his mouth and, using his teeth, pulled his glove off by the fingertips. He made a quick check for any pulse or other sign of life, unsurprised when he didn’t find any.

Young, around thirty or so, Clement guessed. Good-looking too – for in spite of the fact that his face was a ghostly white, his features hadn’t been affected much. Lots of dark hair, in need of a good cut, in Clement’s opinion. But the trend among the young nowadays was to wear their hair longer, he knew. There was no obvious blood or sign of severe injury. Gingerly, Clement leaned in closer to peer at the forehead where it was lying against the wheel. He could see no sign of significant bruising yet – but that, as he well knew, needn’t necessarily mean anything. Some bruising only became obvious on cadavers after twenty-four or more hours.