“Mm, I think you’ve solved the case, Doctor. MacFarlane may have been right again. Motive and commission of the crime understood, but neither party identifiable due to social circumstances. He had a feeling this case would be one for the ‘coffin box.’ Do you know?”

“Know of it? I’m a contributor! I believe quite a few of my reports have ended up in that sinister little receptacle, one or two involving ingredients worthy of ‘The Forme of Cury,’ royal cookbook from the Middle Ages. I mean . . . Swan? Wild boar? Foie gras? Who on earth puts things like that on the table this century, and in Cambridge?”

“And kills the guest so soon after supper the ingredients are still identifiable in the laboratory? What did he say to annoy the chef?”

“Well, if you envisage a killer chef on the rampage, look no further than Bert the jellied eel maker and the pie man in Cambridge Market!”

“Do you have a time for the consumption of this meal?”

“Yes. From about teatime onwards on Friday, if my calculations about the time of death are correct. And the cause of death? I confirm our first estimates. Pressure on the carotid artery. Here and here. Do you see the bruising? Blood choke. The assailant knew exactly where to place his thumbs. It would have been over in seconds. No sign of resistance. And the attack came from in front. I’d say the victim knew his murderer and was not expecting trouble.”

“Mm. Thank you. The pie stall is open for business every day but Sunday. It’s certainly a possibility. I’ll go and interview Bert about his jellied eels this afternoon, when MacFarlane’s finished with me.”

“Well, if you find yourself doing an exchange of recipes, ask Bert about the herb he favours. Every pie man has his favourite for eels, I’m told. Whoever cooked these loves his dill. Good choice, but unusual. Oh, and there was celery seed in there, too.”

“Well, what do you make of that!” MacFarlane slapped a large printout of a black-and-white photograph in front of his inspector. It was the item from the coffin box that he’d chosen to present first. Knowing that his boss was something of a showman at heart, Redfyre expected that he’d selected the most jaw-dropping of the pieces of evidence on the cold cases, and he leaned forward with anticipation of thrills or intrigue.

Finally, “Um,” he said. “Er . . .”

“Ha! Speechless, are you? Not surprised! You’re looking at the most worrying scene encountered in Cambridge crime fighting since the camera was invented.”