‘Ah, now, this next point is not so jolly.’ His voice changed. ‘That lovely young woman, Lisa Jane Leonard? Sadly, whoever strangled her, and I’m sure you saw in my preliminary report that from the height and sheer strength of her assailant it was most certainly a male, left no traces of DNA, but …’ Nikki felt him frowning, ‘… there was saliva on the side of her face.’

‘Someone kissed her?’ asked Nikki with surprise.

‘Nothing so pleasant. Someone spat on her. And having fast-tracked the DNA results, I can tell you it was a woman.’

Nikki’s brain threw up an instant picture of Frankie Doyle’s evil eyes.

‘So,’ continued Rory Wilkinson, ‘if you just happen to come up with an accessory to murder, and you suspect she has a heart as cold and hard as a gravedigger’s shovel, then I’d be more than happy to prove you correct, if I can only get her on to my dissecting table, that is.’

‘If it’s the woman I think it is, I couldn’t think of a more fitting place for her,’ muttered Nikki through gritted teeth.

‘Spoken with sincere venom, Inspector. I like that,’ said the pathologist appreciatively. ‘Now finally I have to say, and please don’t think I’m complaining, but just because I’m filling in whilst your own eminent professor is boring the pants of anyone who’s still awake in the Royal Courts of Justice, don’t feel that you have to pack every moment of my fun-filled day with new forensic challenges. Strangely, I actually find the odd hour or two of sleep quite acceptable, and I’ve seen very few since I arrived.’

Nikki had heard about this pathologist many times, seen a few photographs of him, and even read some of his work on police-related cases. He was a tall, gangly man with a drooping fringe, a beak of a nose and thin wire-rimmed glasses. His weird wit was legendary, and he was happy to tell the world that he was as camp as a row of tents, but over the years he had proven himself to be one of the finest Home Office pathologists in the country. Nikki had just not realized that, in the strangest of ways, his black humour when dealing with such a gruesome job was almost a breath of fresh air. ‘Believe me, there is nothing I’d rather do than give you a peaceful life, Professor, but sadly my lovely Greenborough market town has turned into something more akin to a twenty-first-century location for The Night of the Living Dead!’

‘I have to agree, and because of that, dear lady, I must let you get on, and I shall return to my homely little chamber of horrors, of which by the way, the door is always open if you care to visit.’

‘I’ll remember that, and thank you.’ Nikki hung up the phone and her recent amusement faded.