‘It would appear that despite the violence, this was not a sporadic attack. The killer would have had to have the flowers with them – in order to arrange the body like that. This was carefully planned.’

The incident room was hot and they were all tired. The hours they had to put in were always unforgiving when they were investigating a murder.

Barrett looked at his watch. It was 8.50pm. ‘Let’s order pizza,’ he said, ‘it’s going to be a long night.’

10

9.40pm 23 June

After enjoying a few slices of a Domino’s pizza, Barrett and Palmer were back in the car on their way to visit Marion Bolton, in Cherry Hinton.

Darkness was beginning to fall and the moon hung in the sky like a fingernail clipping. Neither of the men spoke as they travelled through the city observing the Saturday night revellers on the streets of Cambridge. The station would be busy with drunks, and people who’d been in fights around closing time. It always was at the weekend.

They pulled up outside 33 Gladstone Way and got out of the car. The night air was warm, and as they approached the front door they were greeted by the scent of roses coming from the shrubs on the pristine front lawn.

Palmer was pleased to see there were lights on downstairs. He took no pleasure in disturbing sleeping pensioners.

‘Hello?’ A tall, slender, grey haired man opened the door.

‘Good evening.’ Barrett showed his badge. ‘I’m looking for Marion Bolton. Is she here?’

‘Yes.’ The gentleman took the badge and inspected it. ‘She is.’

‘Can we come in please, sir?’

‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’ He looked panicked.

‘We need to ask Mrs Bolton some questions regarding the book club she is a member of.’

Alfred Bolton could not hide his confusion.

‘You’d better come in,’ he said, turning and calling out to his wife.

In the living room, they found Marion sitting on the sofa reading a book, and rugby on the television. Barrett enjoyed watching rugby and took a particular interest in the score before turning his attention to Marion.

‘Good evening. I am sorry for disturbing you at this hour,’ Palmer introduced himself. ‘We are investigating the murder of Toni Jones. I understand you knew the victim?’

Marion put down her book and reached for the remote control and turned off the television off, much to Barrett’s disappointment. Alfred took a seat next to his wife to show his support.

‘Yes. That’s right, I knew Toni. Awful thing that happened.’ She shook her head and Alfred put a hand on her knee.

‘We understand that on June twenty-first you hosted a book club meeting here, is that correct?’

‘Yes. It was my turn.’

‘Can you tell us what happened?’