“You’re absolutely right,” Lindsay chipped in. “I wish all your colleagues were as organized. Now, will it be possible for us to make a copy of this file?”

He looked doubtful. “I thought you’d just be wanting to have a look at the inquest report.”

Sophie shook her head. “We really do need to examine the whole file, I’m afraid.”

He tapped his fingers on the edge of the file. “I’m not right sure about that . . . I mean, whether the rest of the stuff’s confidential or not.”

“The other officers we’ve dealt with in London and Manchester didn’t have a problem with that,” Sophie said soothingly. “I suppose they felt that enough time had elapsed to remove any possibility of an invasion of privacy. And of course, the study won’t be identifying particular cases by name.”

His face brightened. “Well, if they thought it was okay, I suppose they’ll know best, being more at the heart of things. I haven’t got a photocopier in this office, but I use the one in the county council office down the hall. If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll pop down and do it now.”

As his footsteps receded down the hall, Lindsay leaned over and planted a kiss on Sophie’s neck. “You are a bloody genius!” she said. “Pathology, epidemiology, epistemology: you didn’t leave an ology unturned. Eat your heart out, Maureen Lipman!”

Sophie studied her fingernails in a pose of mock modesty. “Elementary, my dear Watson. When in doubt, blind the buggers with science, that’s what I always say. After all, it’s been good enough for the medical profession for centuries. Why change a winning formula?”

“There’s just one thing niggling me,” Lindsay said.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“The fact that he knew right away who you were talking about. And his explanation didn’t ring true to me. Methinks the laddie doth protest too much, and all that. Once you’ve got your mitts on our ‘research material,’ I’m going to have another go at our local friendly copper,” she said.

They had twenty minutes to argue about the likelihood of Laura having murdered Union Jack before the coroner’s officer returned, carrying a large manila envelope as well as the file.

“Here we are,” he said, handing the bulky envelope to Sophie. “I took the opportunity of having a word with Mr. Entwistle, the coroner, just to make sure I wasn’t doing anything out of order, and he’s cleared it.”

The two women rose to their feet. “Thanks, we really appreciate this, especially since my letter had gone astray,” Sophie said.

“We certainly do,” Lindsay echoed. “And I still can’t get over your mental filing system. Fancy being able to remember the case and the year, just like that. Nine years ago!”