The more James thought about it, the harder it was to ignore the panic that was churning in his stomach.

James decided to make two stops before calling it a day. The first would be the crime scene at Lorna Manning’s house to see what progress the SOCOs had made. He’d then call in at the village hall to check that it was proving effective as a remote hub of operations.

He told Stevens to go home so as to avoid being stranded by the weather. It was agreed that he’d head straight to Kendal HQ on Tuesday morning where he would look into Daniel’s alibi for Saturday night, stage a briefing for the team, and arrange for somebody to attend the victim post-mortems.

‘We’ll play the rest of it by ear,’ James said. ‘What we do tomorrow very much depends on what happens overnight. But for now, assume I’m staying here, and you might need to come back as well.’

When they arrived in Willow Road, Stevens headed to his car and James didn’t envy him the twenty-mile journey to his home in Burnside. The snow was still coming down and it was bound to make it hard going on the roads.

The street was clear of people but there were still police and forensic vehicles outside Lorna’s house.

As James entered, his phone rang with a call from Tanner. The DCI wanted to know if there were any updates before he fronted the press conference at seven o’clock.

‘I’m afraid not, sir,’ James told him. ‘You know all there is to know.’

Tanner groaned. ‘Unfortunately, that’s not enough to quash fears that the killing spree has only just begun.’

James knew his boss was right, but he didn’t bother to tell him so. Instead he wished him good luck and said he would try to catch coverage of the presser on TV.

The house had been turned upside down, testimony to the thorough job the SOCOs had done. They were still at it, but there were fewer of them now. Two were searching for clues in the back garden, aided by halogen arch-lamps on stands, and two others were in the kitchen scrubbing at the floor where Lorna’s body had been found.

The chief forensic officer told James that they hadn’t come across anything significant, but they’d be returning tomorrow.

He pointed to a small, black, wheeled, carry-on suitcase. ‘We found this under the victim’s bed,’ he said. ‘It’s filled with personal documents and diaries. One of the other detectives was supposed to take it away with him but he must have forgotten.’

‘Have you been through it?’ James asked.

‘No, we haven’t. There’s a lot of it and I don’t reckon it will throw up any forensic evidence pertaining to the murder.’

‘But it might provide us with some useful information on the woman herself. Leave it with me and I’ll sign it out.’

James took the case with him to the village hall. There was a uniformed officer outside who James didn’t know so he had to show his warrant card. A sign had been stuck to the door that read: POLICE NOTICE. TEMPORARILY CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC.