‘You drive, we’re going to Balsham.’ Barrett flung the keys at his partner as the snow began to fall more heavily. ‘I hate driving in this weather.’

As they got into the car Palmer immediately started the engine before fiddling with the heater, much to Barrett’s disapproval. He was keen to talk to Dennis Wade’s wife as soon as possible but, as they made their way through the congested town centre, it became apparent that the weather had other ideas.

Large light flakes fell in a flurry, making it difficult to see too far ahead, despite the frantic work of the windscreen wipers.

Balsham is a small village to the south east of the city. The roads outside of the city had not been salted and made for hazardous driving conditions. Palmer, who was a careful man, refused to go at the speed Barrett would have liked, but as the car wheels slid when he took a turning into the village Barrett quickly stopped looking so impatient. And, with Balsham being a small village, it didn’t take them long to find number 2 May’s Avenue, which was just off the high street.

Barrett eyed the house as he got out of the car, surprised to see there were no lights on.

Number 2 May’s Avenue was a 1960s house, built with yellow-orange brick. It had a neat front garden and there was a garage to the left of the semi-detached cottage.

Barrett didn’t wait for Palmer and was by the front door before his partner had managed to lock the car. The pavement was icy, and Palmer was careful as he manoeuvred his way along the concrete slabs.

They rang the doorbell twice and knocked loudly, but the house did not spring into life and Barrett feared no one was home. ‘Shit,’ he muttered stepping back from the door so that he could get a better look at the house.

‘No one there, sir,’ Palmer commented, stating the obvious as he noticed a cat jump onto the windowsill inside the house. ‘Well, maybe not no one.’ He grinned pointing at the cat. Barrett shot him an icy stare. This was no time for joking about, and just as Barrett was about to say exactly that, he saw the next-door neighbour peer out from behind their net curtain.

‘Someone has to be feeding it.’ Barrett cocked his head in the direction of the cat before approaching the door of number 4, followed closely by Palmer.

A woman, who was in her seventies, tentatively opened the door and peered out. ‘What you want?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘I’m DCI Barrett of Parkside Police Station. We are looking for a Mrs Veronica Wade. Do you know where she is?’

Clearly surprised to discover the police on her front doorstep asking about Veronica, the elderly lady opened the door wider, to reveal she was still in her night dress and dressing gown.