It was dark by the time they knocked on the door of the Edwardian town house. Connie had rung the doorbell three times before there was any sign of life at the property. It had taken several phone calls, and a trip to the city mortuary, followed by a lengthy pleading session with the on-duty assistant before they got Ailsa Lambert’s home address, and only then with some extremely creative definitions of an emergency.

‘An emergency here usually comes with a body attached,’ the assistant pathologist had said. ‘This sounds like something that can wait until morning.’

‘If Dr Lambert doesn’t help us, there’s a real possibility that people will die,’ Connie had countered.

‘Well at that point the chief pathologist might come in handy, but until then, I’m not convinced.’

Baarda had stepped in. ‘Dr Lambert would want to help. She’s familiar with the case, so she has a stake in ensuring that this killer is brought to justice. If it could wait until morning, I promise you we wouldn’t be here.’

He’d kept his voice low and intimate, letting the concern show in his face. Connie decided the way the assistant pathologist was looking at him probably didn’t do them any harm, either. Baarda had rediscovered himself.

‘She’s been on call for twenty-four hours now. Dr Lambert needs some sleep. It doesn’t seem fair …’ the assistant’s voice had dwindled.

‘I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t vital and from what I’ve seen of Dr Lambert, I’m guessing if she feels I’m wasting her time, she’ll send me off pretty quickly with a flea in my ear.’

Baarda had given a gentle smile, in response to which the assistant’s skin darkened a fraction of a shade. She’d been blushing. Connie watched Baarda grow in stature at the reaction.

‘All right, I’ll give you the address, but please be respectful. Dr Lambert isn’t as young as she used to be. For God’s sake don’t tell her I said that.’

‘I won’t,’ Baarda had said, taking the slip of paper from the assistant pathologist’s hands. ‘And thank you. Dr Lambert is lucky to have you.’

The door opened wide, no hesitation. Dr Lambert had been expecting them.

‘In you come, both of you,’ the pathologist instructed. ‘I find the kitchen the best place for late-night business. I take it neither of you is injured?’

‘Um, no,’ Connie said.

‘I have to ask. It’s happened before. Usually someone has something to hide. Sit yourselves down, and I’ll put the kettle on.’

Connie looked around. The house was grand in an understated way. Old money. It reminded her of her grandmother’s place – perfect taste, sparse but immaculate pieces of art, lush rugs, and cream wallpaper. Ailsa Lambert would fit right in with the Boston elite.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ Baarda began.