When Trudy shot him a quick, surprised look, he explained about the dilated pupils.

‘Could too much drink be the cause of that?’ she asked, after a startled moment of thought.

‘I don’t think it’s particularly likely,’ the doctor in Clement proclaimed cautiously. ‘Of course, he could have hit his head far harder than it appears he has. Head injuries are notoriously hard to quantify until a proper post-mortem has been performed. Concussion might be the cause of it.’

‘But?’ Trudy asked, one dark eyebrow raised quizzically.

‘But,’ Clement echoed with a small smile, ‘I have to admit, my very first thought was that he might have ingested some kind of drug.’

Trudy thought about that for a moment, then sighed. ‘We really need to find out what he’d been doing last night then, don’t we? And if he was at a party, as his clothes suggest, just what kind of a party was it?’ So far in her career, she had seldom come across problems caused by drugs – as a lowly beat cop, she was kept well away from the investigation of narcotics cases. But she knew that drugs weren’t exactly unheard of in the city – especially among the student body and the bored and wealthy set, to which their corpse seemed to belong.

His clothes were all good quality, she’d noticed, as were his shoes. He’d also been wearing an expensive watch. ‘At least he wasn’t robbed,’ she added as an afterthought, checking his wallet again and finding a lot of folded paper notes, confirming her hypothesis.

Clement grunted. ‘Got an address for him?’

Trudy waggled the wallet happily. ‘Inspector Jennings did tell me to start on preliminary inquiries,’ she agreed, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

*

Terrence James Parker lived in a small terraced house near the turn-off to the very desirable village of Wolvercote, and opposite the entrance to another road full of north Oxford mansions. Not quite close enough to be able to boast that he lived in either area, but his street was not exactly downmarket either.

Unfortunately, this smaller side street had not seen the attentions of the snowploughs yet, so they had to abandon the Rover on the nearest clear road and make their way as best they could through the snow on foot.

Luckily, the coroner kept his wellingtons in the car boot, but even so, both of them were aware of numb toes and clammy, cold legs as they made their way up the short path to the front of his house. In addition, Trudy’s cheeks felt as if they were burning – a product of profoundly icy air that she’d always found rather baffling.