The church setting in the locating shots was easily identified. Redfyre found he was looking at a glamorous black-and-white photograph. A pair of cherry trees laden with snow on either side of a huge oak door and a majestic tower rising on the left of the image identified Great St. Mary’s. The direction and depth of the shadows cast by the sun told him that it was taken in the early morning in the very centre of Cambridge. A further shot from the west where the tower gave straight onto the pavings below, opposite the Senate House, would have made a wonderful Christmas card, had its subject not been a corpse lying on its back on the snow-covered slabs at the base of the tower, arms spread like an angel’s wings. A close-up of the neat, tidy body showed a face whose features were untouched by anything more than slight surprise at being caught out by death.

“And what was the cause of this? Did someone shout, ‘Boo’?” Redfyre suggested cynically.

“It was swiftly concluded that this gent fell or threw himself from the top of the tower after dark the previous day. And don’t forget, in the depths of January, dark starts at teatime.”

“How is that possible? The tower isn’t open for visitors in the winter months.”

“Special opening on account of the snow. The photography clubs of Cambridge put pressure—and probably a fat fee—on the church authorities to have the tower opened up for them. They had a competition on at the time—‘Landscapes of Academe,’ or some such. It was well attended. What really gets these photo hounds excited is their slanting light. Like vampires, they’re always to be found scurrying about at the crack of dawn and the last trump of day. There was a magnificent sunset that day, as well. That really got them going! I managed to get my hands on some of the resulting exhibits, just to see if someone had caught an image of a killer lurking. No use! But I had to admire the results.”

“Well attended, you say?” Redfyre’s suspicious tone echoed his policeman’s concern for public safety. He knew the tower, though stout and impressive in its perpendicular style, provided limited skirmishing space for a group of visitors.

“Yup! Swarming with them!” the superintendent replied nonchalantly. “Overcrowding to a dangerous level occurred up there, and the parapet is quite low. With everyone peering through viewfinders, elbows out, jockeying for position. Some die-hard purists were even using cameras you need to envelop your head in a black shroud to use . . . I’m only surprised worse didn’t occur. They’re quite fanatical about their art, you know. Fiends! My first thought was that this could be a case of professional—or rather amateur—competitive spirit. A naughty push in the back to ruin a hated rival’s focus . . . Everyone denied everything, of course.”