If she could find a motive, prove he had been the perpetrator, it was an open-and-shut case.

Jazz sighed as she stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel, her skin a mass of goosebumps as she ran across the unheated landing and into her bedroom.

When had she ever worked on an open-and-shut case?

But they must exist, surely?

She put on her dressing gown, went downstairs and saw her answering machine was flashing. There were messages from the plumber, the decorator and her father, wanting to hear how her first day back had gone.

She picked up the receiver and dialled her parents’ number.

‘Dad, it’s me. Yup, good, but God, I’m tired. Found another corpse at five thirty, so things are hotting up.’

‘What? In sleepy Norfolk? Oh well, all grist to the mill for you, darling. Pleased to be back?’

‘I’ll let you know in a few days’ time. Tonight, I’m bushed.’

‘I’m sure. Anyway, I for one think you’ve made the right decision. Could you make lunch here on Sunday, then you can tell your mother and I all about it?’

‘I’d love to, but I’ll need to see how the case is going.’

‘Of course, but listen, I had a chap here to see me earlier today. He’s called Jonathan Scott and he’s doing his PhD, writing his thesis on crime in modern Britain. He’d heard my daughter was a DI on the university grapevine and wondered if he could interview you at some point in the next few days?’

‘I’m going to be awfully busy, Dad.’

‘I know. But how about you sparing an hour for him after you’ve enjoyed your mother’s leg of lamb on Sunday? He’s an awfully nice chap. Sure you’d like him.’

‘You’re not trying to set me up, are you?’

‘Goodness, no. He’s a few years younger than you anyway.’

‘And he wouldn’t fancy a shrivelled old maid anyway?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Thanks, Dad. I rely on you to do wonders for my morale. How are you feeling, by the way?’

‘Chipper, as always.’

‘Good. Well, barring this investigation running away with me between now and then, I’ll be there for one on Sunday.’

‘Look forward to it, darling. God bless.’

‘Love to Mum. Night, Dad.’

Jazz put the phone down, switched off the lights and walked wearily up the stairs. As she climbed into bed, she realised that for the first time in seven months, she had not thought about her ex-husband all day.

Chapter Eight

Robert Jones was a strange colour. Jazz could see the beads of sweat on his temples.

‘I’m most concerned, Inspector Hunter. Most concerned. One death that may have been accidental, we can just about cope with, but two . . . two is dangerous.’

‘I understand, Mr Jones. It’s a very unfortunate situation. If it’s any comfort to you, we’re pretty sure Mr Daneman committed suicide.’

‘Well, I suppose that’s something,’ the head conceded.

‘Obviously we can’t confirm this until the post-mortem is completed,’ added Jazz.