Her voice sounded impatient. This was no time for chattering. “Heaven knows. They’re being coy about it, as usual, but I gather it’s something to do with Number Ten. I’ll give you all the information I have when we’re on the way. I suggest we take your car, and Commander Dalgliesh wants us to arrive at the Manor at the same time. He’ll have his Jag. I’ll be with you as soon as I can. I’ll leave my car in your garage, and he’ll join us there. I take it you’ve got your murder kit? And bring your camera. It could be useful. Where are you now?”

“At Notting Hill, ma’am. With luck I’ll be back at the flat in under ten minutes.”

“Good. You may as well pick up some sandwiches or wraps and something to drink. AD won’t want us to arrive hungry.”

As Kate rang off, Benton reflected that he already knew that. He had only two calls to make, one to his parents and one to Beverley. His mother took the call and, wasting no time, quickly expressed her regrets and rang off. Beverley didn’t answer her mobile, which he felt was just as well. He left a simple message that their plans would have to be cancelled and said he would call later.

It took him only minutes to buy the sandwiches and drink. Running from the market to Holland Park Avenue, he saw that a number 94 bus was just slowing at the stop and, sprinting, managed to leap in before the doors closed. Already his plans for the day were forgotten, and he was looking ahead to the more demanding task of enhancing his reputation with the Squad. It worried him, but only slightly, that this exhilaration, the sense that the immediate future was full of excitement and challenge, depended on an unknown body stiffening in a Dorset manor house, on grief, anguish and fear. He admitted, and not without a small spasm of conscience, that it would be disappointing to arrive in Dorset to find that, after all, this was only a commonplace murder, and that the perpetrator had already been identified and arrested. It had never yet happened, and he knew that it was unlikely. The Squad was never called in to a commonplace murder.

Standing at the bus doors, he waited impatiently for them to open, then sprinted to his block of flats. Stabbing the lift button, he stood breathless listening for its descent. It was then that he realised, without in the least caring, that he had left his bag of carefully selected organic vegetables in the bus.

Chapter 4

4