Maisy Gunnach was looking at Pax Graham with eyes that suggested she didn’t mind being interviewed by him in the least and that she’d be quite happy to continue the conversation somewhere rather more private later that evening.

DS Lively folded his arms and rested them on his ample stomach. Women didn’t look at him like that, at least they hadn’t until he’d discovered Detective Superintendent Overbeck’s softer side. He and his wife had called it a day a while ago. Policing wasn’t the ideal profession for those who liked their relationships stable and long-lasting. Daisy Overbeck – not that he had ever or would ever call her by the given name she hated so much – was an enigma. The sort of woman he’d spent his life avoiding. Bossy, snooty and overbearing, she was perhaps the only woman who’d ever fully understood him. She didn’t tolerate his bullshit, she was aware of his underlying faith – which he found so hard to talk about openly – and she appeared to desire him physically.

Pax Graham would never have to worry about that, Lively thought. As sickening as it was, the new detective inspector seemed to be turning it substantially to their advantage.

‘I know this is private, Maisy,’ Graham said gently. ‘It must be difficult to be asked to discuss your personal life – and remember, you’re not under arrest – but we just need a bit of help understanding Gilroy Western’s lifestyle. What plans did the two of you have for that day?’

‘It’s no trouble at all,’ Maisy smiled, all wide-eyed and breathless.

She reached out a hand and touched Graham’s forearm quickly, as if he might burn her. Lively forced himself not to tut out loud.

‘Gilroy was coming over to mine for a catch-up. He hadn’t been back to Scotland for a few months. We’re old friends. He visits me every time he comes back. We’d have stayed at mine for a couple of hours, had a drink, chatted. Then he had to go to a memorial service and see some lawyer. He was hoping to get back to mine and take me out to dinner by about 9 p.m.’

‘That’s really helpful,’ Graham said warmly. ‘You’re doing great.’

Maisy giggled.

‘I should have asked your age before we started. Just for the record.’

At that, Maisy looked slightly less delighted, but she leaned forwards conspiratorially to deliver the news.

‘Promise you won’t tell?’ she asked.

‘Nope, our lips are sealed, right, Sergeant Lively?’

‘Okay, well, I tell people I’m thirty-four, but actually I’m forty-two. Thank God for moisturiser and vitamin pills, or I’d never get away with it.’

And boob jobs, Lively thought. Maisy was sporting the sort of chest usually seen in lingerie adverts starring twenty-year-olds.