DCI Barrett and DI Palmer sat in silence as they drove towards Great Shelford. Each had their wild theories about the murder of Toni Jones, but, as yet, no real motive had presented itself.

As they travelled along the High Street, it didn’t take them long to find Mike Williams’ cottage, which was in a picturesque spot next to the Square and Compasses pub.

Parking the silver Volvo S60 on the pavement, Palmer and Barrett got out of the car and approached the front door of Number 21. From inside, they could hear the cries of a toddler having a tantrum and both were dreading the door being opened.

It only took a moment for an attractive blonde woman to open the door. She was smiling but, when they held up their badges and introduced themselves, the smile quickly melted from her face.

‘You’d better come in,’ she said, stepping back; her white sundress ruffled from the breeze that followed the detectives into the cottage. ‘Mike,’ she called upstairs to her husband, who was clearly the one battling the toddler.

‘He’ll be down in a minute,’ she explained, tucking a strand of her smooth blonde hair behind her ear. ‘Can I offer you something to drink?’

‘I’d take a glass of water,’ Palmer said.

‘Not for me, thank you, Mrs Williams,’ Barrett added.

‘Oh, please, call me Amber.’ Her dark brown eyes were smiling at him and for a moment Barrett thought he might get lost in them. ‘It’s absolutely shocking news about Toni,’ she continued, showing the policemen through into the small but cosy lounge, as the toddler let out another bloodcurdling scream.

‘Sorry about Lucy. She’s teething at the moment and it’s making her very bad tempered.’

‘Mrs Williams,’ Barrett said, opening his small notebook and ignoring her request that he should call her by her first name, ‘can you tell me where you were on the night of June twenty-first?’

Amber’s eyes widened and she looked startled.

‘Why, yes, I was here, with Mike.’

‘All evening?’ Palmer asked.

‘Yes. All evening.’

‘And neither of you went out at all?’

‘No, well, I went to get some milk but—’

‘What time was that?’ Barrett interrupted without any embarrassment.

‘Oh, maybe seven, or half past. Something like that. It was before we ate dinner. I’m pretty sure of that.’

‘And what did you have for dinner?’ Barrett continued, refusing to alter his line of questioning.

‘Thursday night, I think we had baked potatoes and salad.’ She tried to recall the meal.

‘You think?’

‘No, I’m certain. That’s what we ate.’

‘Gentlemen,’ Mike announced himself as he came into the lounge. He was an exceptionally tall man with broad shoulders and a short beard. The cottage had low ceilings and he had to hunch slightly when coming through the doorway. In his arms was a young, red-faced little girl.