And yet DS Malik knew it was all very well thinking that Elliot’s manner was suspicious, but the truth was she and her team hadn’t been able to find any reference to Elliot Howard anywhere in Iqbal’s life. There were no phone calls. No emails. No texts. No taxi rides. And without any kind of evidence, she couldn’t possibly spare the resources to investigate him further.

DS Malik checked her watch. Back home, she knew her husband would be sitting on the sofa, snuggling with their gorgeous daughter watching movies. The washing up from tea would still be in the sink, the piles of dirty clothes she’d separated out into piles of whites, darks and mixed would still be sitting on the upstairs landing, and no homework would have been done or packed lunches prepared for tomorrow. She’d have to do all that when she got back. She’d also agreed to pop in on her dad on the way home. He’d phoned earlier to remind her that his boiler was broken, and what sort of daughter would let an old man not have hot water to wash in?

With a start, DS Malik realised a constable had entered her office.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Drifted off there. What have you got?’

‘I’ve had a call from the Daily Mirror. They’re saying they know that Iqbal’s the killer’s second victim, the first was Stefan Dunwoody.’

DS Malik sighed. She’d hoped she’d have a few more days before the national press got involved.

‘Did they mention anything about German Lugers or bronze medallions?’

‘Not in their call to me.’

‘Then we can be thankful for that. What did you tell them?’

‘The usual. I wouldn’t talk to anyone about an ongoing investigation, and if they had any questions they should direct them to the Press Office.’

Tanika’s phone started ringing. It was the press officer for the Thames Valley police. She steeled herself as she answered the call.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 12

Judith was sitting in her favourite wingback chair nursing a small glass of whisky when the doorbell rang. She tutted to herself. The whole point of living on your own was that you didn’t have to share your home with anyone.

Judith went to her front door, opened it and was surprised to see Becks Starling, the vicar’s wife, standing there.

‘I hope you don’t mind me calling on you?’ Becks said.

‘No, of course not, but how did you know where I live?’

‘Everyone knows where you live.’

Judith harrumphed. First, that Suzie woman had claimed to know where she lived, and now it turned out that another complete stranger knew as well. People in Marlow were so nosy!