The closer Jazz got to the school, the faster her heart began to beat. She was glad of the comforting presence of her old DS. Alistair Miles and she had worked on numerous cases together. Always cheerful, Miles did not seem to begrudge Jazz her career trajectory, even though he was a few years older than she was.

He was the kind of policeman the force would be lost without: solid, capable and reliable, but lacking the spark of imagination and flair that would gain him further promotion. Jazz knew she could always rely on him. She trusted his integrity and, most crucial of all, he made her laugh and had diffused many a tense moment with one of his armoury of silly or lewd jokes.

His baby face, blond hair and big blue eyes had set hearts a-fluttering amongst the office staff back at HQ, but Miles seemed oblivious to it all, rarely having a girlfriend and devoting himself to his work.

‘They’ve booked me in to some hotel here,’ Miles commented as they drove through Foltesham, a pretty Georgian town filled with quaint boutiques, art galleries and coffee shops. ‘Do you think they have running water and electric light in this neck of the woods?’

‘Cut out the superior urban act, Miles. It’s not going to endear you to PC Plod of the North Norfolk Constabulary,’ quipped Jazz.

‘Who’s being superior now?’ Miles shot back. ‘Anyway, nothing we can do is ever going to endear a couple of arrogant tossers from the CID to the local constabulary.’

‘We’ll do our best to be as professional and as courteous as we can,’ said Jazz. ‘Right, turn left here and pull into the car park.’ Out of habit, she checked her reflection in the wing mirror. There was nothing that inspired confidence less than a female detective turning up with her mascara smudged, or lipstick on her teeth.

Miles brought the car to a halt in a visitor’s space just in front of the main entrance.

The collection of austere red-brick buildings that comprised St Stephen’s School were set around a well-manicured green. The school chapel, allegedly designed by Wren as a miniature version of St Paul’s Cathedral, stood majestically beyond it, flanked by sports pitches on either side.

‘Do you think that old dear hovering in reception is waiting for us?’ Miles asked as he got out. ‘Or perhaps she is Miss Marple and they’ve drafted her in.’

‘Okay, enough,’ said Jazz more sharply than she meant to. ‘Let’s go and find out, shall we?’

When Jenny brought Detective Inspector Hunter and her sergeant into his office, Robert Jones immediately had to reassess his mental image of the hulking male detective he’d been expecting. The tall, elegant woman in front of him looked more like a catwalk model than a policewoman.

She shook his hand firmly. ‘DI Hunter, and this is DS Miles. Pleased to meet you. Is DS Roland here yet?’

‘Yes, he arrived about ten minutes ago, so I took him across to the room I’ve set aside for you to use,’ replied the headmaster.