Jane returned home, washed her hair and, with the clean sheets her mother had laundered, made up her bed before hanging up her suit for the following day. She felt better for some time away from the case, even with all her mother’s questions.

As she lay in bed after watching some TV, she started thinking about herself. She began to realize that her life was almost entirely bound up in her work; the only area that was different was the sessions with Elliott. She felt that not only had she improved her shooting, there was also some progress in their relationship.

She got up and poured herself a stiff whisky. She then opened the kitchen cutlery drawer and found the crumpled pack of Marlboro cigarettes. Sitting with the whisky and a cigarette, she began to play over in her mind the conversation she’d had with Elliott. What had he meant when he said he had a personal interest in her situation?

Jane inhaled deeply. It didn’t make sense. Why would he have any interest in her? She asked herself whether she would ever find him attractive. She topped up her glass and took another drag of her cigarette. She had liked his smile when it suddenly appeared. But then, the more she thought about it, the more she knew that something didn’t quite make sense. The only person who perhaps could answer her questions was Dabs. And even though she knew she shouldn’t, she got off the kitchen stool and went to call him.

‘Hello?’ It was Joan, his wife, and she sounded anxious.

‘Joan, it’s Jane, Jane Tennison. I’m sorry it’s rather late. I just wanted to have a quick word with Dabs if he’s there.’

‘I’m afraid he’s not, dear. He is out at York Hall at a charity boxing event. I don’t know what time he will be in, but do you need him to call you?’

‘No, thanks, Joan. Sorry to bother you.’

Jane hung up, instantly regretting the call and thinking that she’d sounded drunk, but the whisky had given her Dutch courage, so the next person she called was Elliott. The phone rang and there was no answer.

*

Jane was in the canteen eating scrambled eggs on toast and drinking coffee when a disgruntled DC Dors came in. He limped over to join her, carrying his tray.

‘That bloody dog should be put down. You have no idea how much stuff we found buried in the garden. Then we had this woman screaming her head off because the little bugger had a pigeon in his mouth.’