‘Can you tell me a bit about Mr Wade? I know it’s been a shock.’ Looking down at his feet he realised he was still wearing his shoe protectors in the snow. If it wasn’t such a serious situation, he might have chuckled.

‘He was a nice man. I didn’t spend time with him away from the shop, so I can’t tell you much, but he was always respectful. Never lost his temper or anything. People who came into the shop liked him. He made an effort to help local authors, and arranged meet-ups and signings. I can’t imagine why he would do this.’

That’s the difference between an officer and a citizen, Palmer told himself, the ability to spot when a crime had taken place.

‘What about his home life, Matilda?’ Palmer asked removing the shoe protectors. Her name did not sit easily on his tongue.

‘I don’t know much about that. Like I said, we worked together but that was it.’

‘How many other people work in the shop?’ Palmer stood up and rubbed his hands together in an attempt to escape the cold.

‘There are usually four of five of us at one time. It’s a large place.’ Her eyes darted over, and she stared helplessly at the front window.

‘Could you possibly give me a list of all the names of other employees?’ He reached into his coat pocket and removed a notepad.

‘Yes, of course.’ Matilda’s brow furrowed. ‘Well, there is Jane Campbell. She’s also my manager and she sometimes works on the till. And Aiden Gerrard: he works in the stock room. Myleene Little: she’s on the till upstairs, usually. And then Amber Wu: she’s part-time.’ Tilly paused, searching her memory for any more information that might help. But the shock had taken its toll on her.

‘It’s okay,’ Palmer soothed. ‘Take your time.’

Tilly closed her eyes and a large teardrop ran down her pale cheek.

‘Marcus Goldman. He does the accounts.’ Her eyes opened, and Palmer thought he saw something akin to fear cross her face for a moment. ‘And Steven Fisher, he works part-time, too.’

‘You’ve been very helpful, Matilda.’ Palmer finished scribbling the names down in his pad.

‘Matilda was my grandmother’s name. People usually call me Tilly.’

‘I see.’ It now made sense to Palmer. ‘Is there someone you’d like me to call for you?’

Tilly paused a moment and considered this. ‘No, there is no one.’

Fifteen minutes later, Barrett was informed that officers back at the station had tracked down an address for the deceased.

‘Come on, Joe,’ Barrett barked as he marched out of the shop. ‘You’re coming with me.’

Palmer jumped to attention and went scampering after his boss; a man who never minced his words and often forgot about common courtesy.