James knew he’d be expected to attend as the senior investigating officer and it wasn’t something he was looking forward to.

A lot was also made of the weather forecast. The Met Office had issued what it described as a more accurate prediction of the storm that was approaching the country from the east. It was apparently going to bring heavy snowfall and potentially major disruption to large parts of the North of England and Scotland.

‘We expect this storm to bring severe blizzards and drifting snow,’ the forecaster said. ‘There’s a strong possibility it will cause road closures, power cuts and some damage to buildings.’

It wasn’t what James wanted to hear as he knew it would tie up police resources and slow things down.

‘We can only hope that we solve the case before everything grinds to a standstill,’ he said to Annie as she gave him his toast and topped up his coffee.

But that hope was dashed within minutes when he received a call on his mobile from DCI Tanner.

‘I’ve cancelled this morning’s briefing and press conference and you need to stay where you are,’ he told James. ‘A few minutes ago someone in Kirkby Abbey made a three nines call and I want you to respond right away.’

‘What’s happened, sir?’

‘According to the caller another body has just turned up in the village, and it sounds very much like we’ve got a second murder on our hands.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

It was the postman who made the 999 call. He was delivering mail to a property in Willow Road when he discovered the body.

He told the emergency call handler that he was convinced it was a case of murder because of the amount of blood. He was also able to provide the name of the victim.

James had shared the information with Annie before leaving the house and it had shaken her to the core. He would have stayed with her if he’d had a choice, but he had to get to the scene as quickly as possible.

‘Oh, please don’t let it be her,’ Annie had said. ‘Call or text me when you know for sure that the postman hasn’t made a mistake.’

As James walked at a hurried pace through the village, his heart was hammering in his chest.

He was hoping to God that the postman had indeed made a mistake, but not just about the identity of the deceased. With any luck, he had also jumped to the wrong conclusion about it being a murder. After all, copious amounts of blood were not uncommon in certain accidental deaths and suicides. If a second premeditated killing had taken place the spotlight would fall on the warning in the Twelve Days of Christmas card.

Twelve days. Twelve murders. Twelve victims. And they all deserve what’s coming to them.

It took James only eight minutes to reach his destination. Falling temperatures had turned the rain to sleet, but the slush on the pavements made him wish he had worn boots instead of shoes. His socks and trouser bottoms were soaked, and his feet felt like blocks of ice.