Her drive to Eden House was uneventful and she drove in peace, listening to the radio. It was only when she arrived at her office that a chaotic buzz assaulted her. If she was looking for an early direction in which to take the investigation into the death of Mary Hales, then she’d have to work fast. The first forty-eight hours had passed. This was what any detective considered as the golden hours: the time when vital clues and evidence are either gathered or lost. After that time frame, the investigation becomes trickier. She’d worked them hard over the weekend and now they were entering another investigative phase where things slowed and chances waned. Her whole team was gathered for an early brief, but first she had to read the fire report. She glanced into the incident room and nodded her greetings.

‘Guv, the vet has got back to us with the reports on the animal carcasses. It’s an interesting read.’ DS Kate Umshaw followed Kelly into her office.

‘Did you manage to get some rest?’ Kelly asked.

‘Not really, a sixteen-year-old who is sexting her boyfriend, a fourteen-year-old who thinks she’s fat and a twelve-year-old who still wants to sleep with me. It’s quieter here, frankly.’

‘I’m sure your passion for parental duties is rubbing off on the others; it certainly has on me. Though I have to say that my stepdaughter is remarkably mature and trouble free at the moment.’

‘Calm before the storm, guv. Give it time.’

Kelly nodded. It was true: Josie had rarely displayed such tranquillity in the few years she’d been living with Johnny. There was always some argument, angst, or tension surrounding her that Kelly waded in on, unannounced and regretful of later. She’d found herself chatting to the teenager about boys, image and the dangers of online dating before she could even consider herself anything like a parent, but it had happened, and she’d survived. The climbing club seemed to be taking most of the strain lately, even though it was early days.

‘I’ll read the fire report too and we’ll get together in an hour,’ Kelly said.

‘Oh, the shoe print people got back: the wellington boot was a generic plastic mould produced in hundreds of factories all over the world. Size eight. Coffee?’ Kate asked.

‘Go on then.’