Gillard shrugged. ‘It’s baffling. I suppose we will have to wait for the post-mortem to see if there’s anything else we can find out.’ He stroked his chin. ‘I do hope it wasn’t Deepak who killed Mrs Roy. We’d have to disclose Kirsty’s connection to him to the defence lawyers, and we’d never get a conviction because the forensic evidence for the source of thallium becomes unreliable.’

‘Best hope it was Lal then, sir.’

Gillard was back at Mount Browne first thing on Monday morning, dressed in his best dark suit and wearing a black tie. He wanted to have an incident room meeting at nine a.m. The atmosphere in the CID department was very subdued. Some wag had put blue crime scene tape around Colin’s grubby chair and desk. It seemed to be in pretty poor taste.

Hoskins didn’t arrive until 7.45 a.m. and Gillard suggested they go down to the canteen for an early breakfast. It looked to be bright and sunny day as they crossed from the CID block and through the main entrance. The refectory was at its busiest, but Mrs Iris was there like the captain of the ship.

‘Hello Mr Craig, and Mr Carl,’ she boomed out from behind the counter. ‘What can I be getting you?’

‘Bacon and sausage sandwich for me,’ Carl said.

‘The usual please, Iris,’ Gillard said.

She turned behind her and called out the two orders. ‘Poached egg on toast and a milky coffee for Mr Gillard.’

They took their seats to wait, and then looked at each other. ‘Carl, when I left on Friday morning for my meeting with Alison Rigby, what happened to my breakfast?

Hoskins began to laugh, and then stopped himself. ‘Me and Hodges shared it. I had thought about that.’

‘What about the coffee?’

‘Hodges drank it, but it can’t be that. It’s machine coffee.’

‘But the hot milk isn’t from the machine, because as everyone knows, the latte option on that machine is crap. There’s no froth. Every day I hear the ping, which tells me my coffee is ready.’

Hoskins stared towards Mrs Iris, bustling about behind the counter, then turned back to his boss. ‘With all due respect, sir, you’re fucking joking, aren’t you?’

‘It’s not her, Carl. She doesn’t make the coffee.’ He stood up. ‘Wait here a moment.’ Gillard made his way up to the counter, and beckoned Mrs Iris closer.

‘What, now you want a kiss?’ she asked, puckering up as she leaned towards him.

‘Tempting, but no,’ he smiled. ‘You’re all outsourced here, aren’t you?’

‘Hm-hm, we’re part of the giggle economy.’ She laughed. ‘But it’s okay.’

‘Have there been any new members of staff in the last couple of weeks?’ he murmured.

‘Darling, ain’t never a week without one or two. They keep changing. I can’t get all the names straight, you know?’

‘Where are the rotas kept?’

‘They tape them to de wall.’ She pointed to the tiles behind her. ‘Who are you looking for?’