Geraldine did feel sorry for Ian, but he wasn’t the only person whose happiness had been snatched away by Bev’s unexpected return, waltzing back into his life as though she still had a claim on him.

‘She walked out on you, Ian,’ she reminded him. ‘She went to live with another man and told you the baby was his.’

‘I know what she did.’

After everything that had happened, Ian was back with Bev and her baby, while Geraldine was left on her own. Somehow Geraldine was being punished, although Bev was the one who had behaved badly. She drove the rest of the way in silent fury.

When they arrived at the morgue April, the blonde assistant, opened the door for them.

‘Ian,’ she smiled a welcome. ‘We haven’t seen you for a while.’ She paused, seeming to register his strained expression, and reached out to put a hand on his arm. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Everything’s fine,’ Geraldine replied shortly, when he didn’t answer. ‘We’re here to see David Armstrong.’

She had never before objected to April’s flirting with Ian, but now it irritated her, forced as she was to conceal her own feelings.

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ Avril replied, looking slightly put out. ‘You know the way. Jonah’s expecting you.’

The pathologist, Jonah Hetherington, raised a bloody glove in greeting and grinned.

‘Two of you,’ he said, smiling at Ian and giving him a mock bow. ‘To what do I owe this honour, Detective Inspector? It must be the VIP status of our visitor here.’

He nodded at the body lying on the table.

‘Do you know the cause of death yet?’ Geraldine asked, returning Jonah’s smile.

‘He was knocked out by a combination of alcohol and pills,’ Jonah replied cheerfully, as though he was commenting on the recent good weather.

‘He was drugged? Are you sure?’ Ian asked, sounding surprised.

Jonah raised his eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t make such a bold statement without evidence.’

‘So what’s the exact cause of death?’ Ian asked.

‘He appears to have lost consciousness and choked on his own vomit.’

Geraldine stared glumly at the corpse lying on the table like a pale walrus. The dead man’s face looked composed, as though he might open his eyes at any moment and begin to bully them all.

‘Come on, Sergeant,’ she imagined him saying. ‘Can’t you see I’m dead? And what are you doing about it? I want a full report on my cause of death by tomorrow, or I’ll be speaking to your senior officers about your lackadaisical attitude. Don’t you know who I am by now?’