Then they heard that a call had been received from Mary Raven’s landlady saying that the reporter had returned to her flat.

“Send someone to bring her in,” Ramsay said, and then they had to wait. Despite the friction that had been there between them during the course of the investigation, they seemed very close as they shared the anticipation.

The constable sent to fetch Mary Raven came onto the radio in the Incident Room.

“The lights are on,” the constable said, “but I can’t get any reply.”

“Get in!” Ramsay shouted. “ Get hold of the landlady and get in. I’ll be there.”

So he and Hunter drove to Mary’s flat. Hunter was driving, overtaking cars on the main street, jumping traffic lights, enjoying himself. When they arrived at the flat, there was a group of people on the pavement staring inside. The landlady had been found in the local pub and had brought all her friends with her. Some still held glasses. Ramsay tried to send them all home, but the big car with its screeching brakes and Hunter posing like a detective from Miami Vice only increased their curiosity and excitement.

The sight of the crowd troubled Ramsay. He was worried about what he might find inside. The last thing he needed was another tragedy. But the constable who was holding his ground by the front door of the flat shook his head.

“Sorry,” he said. “ I can’t have got here in time. She’s not here. She must have left in a hurry, though.”

Ramsay made a quick search of the bedroom and kitchen before he saw the note in the typewriter. Then he ordered Hunter into the car and they drove away without explaining to the police constable or the watchers, leaving the doors wide open and the landlady complaining about her interrupted evening.

Chapter Twenty-Four