Jem waited until the lift silenced the irregular clack of Yvonne’s high heels. Then she went into the kitchen, where the smell of sweet copper and decomposition wasn’t quite so eye-watering. The soles of her boots stuck to the lino as she walked to the cleanest countertop, and flies were gorging themselves on the unwashed dishes that filled the sink. She scratched her arm and then her head, setting off a chain reaction of furious itching that only abated when her mobile buzzed with a message from Rosie. Safe and sound and on my way to MaccieD’s. Fancy a Flurry?

Love one, Jem typed. But I’m stuck babysitting a body until your lot arrive. She was about to send the text when someone knocked on the door.

“Hello? Police!” a man shouted.

“In the kitchen,” she called back. “Watch where you’re putting your feet.”

The officer swore every couple of steps, making it easy for her to gauge his approach. With his presence guaranteeing she’d be able to leave the scene, she erased all but the first two words of her message and added, Meet me in the B&Q car park in fifteen.

She rendezvoused with Rosie at the far end of the B&Q car park, well beyond the steady stream of baby boomers laden with gardening supplies and buckets of grout. For the sake of convenience and staying dry, she took a leaf from every police series she’d ever watched and lined her driver’s window up with Rosie’s. Rosie—who apparently also watched too much telly—made a show of checking for witnesses before she passed Jem the ice cream, still wrapped in its brown paper bag. For extra effect, she’d donned her sunglasses despite the pouring rain.

“Very incognito,” Jem said. “I’m sure no one’s spotted us, sitting here in our subtly marked cars.” She hit her blues for the benefit of a woman who’d stopped to stare, and the woman flounced off, steering her trolley-load of magnolia Dulux into a bollard.

“Nothing to see here,” Rosie announced loudly. “We’re allowed to take a break, no matter what the Daily Mail might say.” She waggled a finger toward Jem’s paper bag. “You struck me as an extra sauce kind of lass. So to speak.”

Jem said nothing, but she felt her ears go hot. Ducking her head to hide the telltale flush, she delved into her bag, popping the lid off her Flurry and then gaping at it. The tub was full to overflowing and covered in liberal dollops of raspberry, with half a ton of chocolate embedded in the ice cream. She sat up straight again, her pink ears forgotten. “How the hell did you wangle this? I’ve never been able to wangle this, even when I’m in uniform.”