Clement dropped into the morgue, where his presence caused a brief scurry of activity from the two people in attendance. He explained about the RTA, filled in forms asserting time of death, and told them to expect a Mr Geoffrey Thorpe to come in and identify one of their (temporary) residents before the day was out.

That done, he went home, hitting an icy patch and almost sliding his car into a lamp-post on the turn-off to his street, making his heart thump in alarm.

Vincent looked up from his chair in the front parlour when Clement walked in, putting aside the book he’d been reading by the fire. ‘I didn’t know if you were going to be back in time for lunch,’ he said, without any obvious censure in his tone. ‘So I went ahead and had something. Want me to heat up some soup for you?’

Clement grunted. Why did that question make him feel about a hundred years old? On the other hand, it was the first time in a long time that anyone had been here to care about whether or not he was eating properly, and it felt kind of pleasant. ‘Why not? I’ve just got to make a phone call first.’

He retreated to his study, opened his telephone ledger, and found the number of one of the pathologists who worked under his old friend, Dr Robbins. It rang a number of times and was then finally answered, rather grumpily, by yet another old pal of his, Dr Douglas Carey. ‘Hullo? Who the hell’s this?’

‘Doug, it’s Clement.’

‘Do you know what day it is?’

‘Yes. But unlike you, I haven’t spent all day drinking whisky in the comfort of my home, surrounded by doting grandchildren and eating roast beef! I’ve been up since before it got properly light, attending the scene of a fatal road accident as a favour to help out a certain department which shall remain nameless,’ Clement responded cheerfully.

He heard a sigh on the other end and grinned.

‘So what do you want from me?’ his old friend grumbled. ‘A medal?’

‘Nothing so useless,’ Clement said with a laugh. ‘I’m not even ringing to ask you to pull your finger out tomorrow and put my particular cadaver at the top of your list for a post-mortem. I’ve already had an earful from Robbins about how backlogged and overworked you all are.’

‘Well, that’s big of you.’

‘In fact, you can take all the time you want before you get around to it,’ Clement added craftily. ‘But …’

‘I knew there’d be a but!’

‘But,’ Clement repeated patiently, ‘I would be obliged if you’d run a blood tox screen on my Mr Terrence James Parker first thing, and send it off to the labs, there’s a good lad. Look out for one of the barbiturates first, I think,’ he advised.