‘Chief Inspector, the only shocking thing about that is that it’s exactly what I’d have done in your shoes. Don’t get your knickers in a twist about it. It may be the first thing you’ve ever done that’s made me respect you, you devious little cow.’

Ava stared at her open-mouthed.

‘And he accused you of sexism, did he? He has been a bit snippy lately. If he were a woman, I’d think he was due his period.’

‘Oh God,’ Ava murmured.

‘Don’t worry about it, Turner. He’ll get over it. It’s me he’s pissed at, not you.’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Ava said, and she meant it.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that her obnoxious but loyal sergeant had fallen very much in love with the superintendent.

‘He wants me to file for divorce. The problem is that I feel rather sentimental about my husband, blithering idiot that he is. I’m not sure I’m ready to take the next step. Isn’t that what the popular media calls it? Why on earth can’t men be happy with a quick shag? If I had a pound for every string that got attached, I sure as shit wouldn’t be doing this job.’ Overbeck closed her door but lowered the window. ‘And what’s happening on the other murder? That nursing home job.’

‘Most likely a member of staff,’ Ava said, wishing Overbeck would just get going.

‘Fine. Now, be a good girl and don’t upset any other MIT squad members with that nasty sexism of yours.’

She wheel-spun away, cackling at her own hilarity, leaving Ava feeling both relieved and upset. DS Lively was obviously at a low point, which made her attempt to use him all the more unfortunate.

Chapter Sixteen

8 March

Gilroy Western was weighing up the pros and cons of having an affair. At his age, the very use of the term ‘affair’ was a euphemism and he knew it. Not in the marital sense. That was pretty clear. He’d left his wife, in her sixties, at home in their apartment in Spain with her golfing buddies for company and with the endless consolation of the multitude of expat bars nearby. Sleeping with anyone else naturally constituted an affair, only this was more of a professional arrangement and he knew it.

The woman half his age who obliged him with sex in positions his wife had decided years ago hurt her back, and with the blowjobs his wife had never deemed appetising, would inevitably find herself too busy to see him on his return were he not so generous with his purchasing of jewellery, clothing and fine wines. A prostitute in all but name and he knew it. He also didn’t care. When you paid a fair price for a service, no one had any complaints, and that was how he liked his life.