‘DC West?’ the voice says at the other end. ‘PC Wallis. I was told you’re investigating the Jonathan Miller death?’

‘Yes?’ Freya says, taking the phone away from her ear and putting it on speaker. Butler cranes forward, interested.

‘Sorry I didn’t call before, I only just joined the dots,’ the PC continues. ‘Just that we spoke to the wife Friday night. Amy Miller? Was parked on double yellows outside a chippy.’

‘Where are you?’ Butler asks, starting the engine. ‘We’ll come to you.’

They meet in the middle, Butler pulling up behind the yellow and blue panda in one of the car parks in town. PC Wallis gets out, introducing himself quickly with a handshake to them both, then leans back, resting his ample behind on the bonnet of his patrol car.

‘North end of Jewry Street, near the steakhouse,’ he says, in answer to Butler’s question of where he saw Amy Miller. ‘She was blocking the road, so we pulled up alongside and asked her to move.’

Freya wraps her arms round herself, bouncing to try to defeat the effects of the cold. In her eagerness she left her coat in the car, but she doesn’t want to get it now and risk missing the conversation.

‘She was driving?’

‘Yeah. But when she spoke she sounded like she’d had a drink or two, so we did a breathalyser.’

‘And it was below the legal limit?’

The PC nods. ‘Nought point two. Well below. She said she’d had a glass of champagne at a party.’

‘Was she alone?’

‘Nah, her husband was there. In the chippy. She pointed at him through the window. She seemed nervous though, keen for us to be gone.’

‘She didn’t want her husband to see you?’

‘Not at all, no. I’ll get the BWV for you, you can see for yourself.’ His radio crackles on his shoulder and he bends his head to listen. ‘Got to go, Sarge. Shout if you need anything else.’

Butler thanks Wallis, and he and Freya get back into the car.

‘Do you think she was scared of him? The husband?’ Butler asks.

Freya knows there is no truth in it but can see where his chain of thought is going. ‘You’re still thinking DV?’ she asks. Domestic violence might make sense. But there was just no way.

‘Would tie up with the bruise on her forehead. And a reason to kill him,’ he replies, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. ‘What about Kal, the best mate? In love with Amy Miller? Wants to get the husband out of the way?’

Freya frowns. ‘He didn’t seem much like a jealous lover to me. So much into Amy Miller that he can’t even… you know… complete the transaction,’ she finishes, resorting to a euphemism.