At the same moment the door banged shut behind Wozza, Mayor Tippet introduced him. After a smattering of applause, there was an expectant silence. Wheels glared at Wozza’s empty seat and, without waiting for his nod, I stood up and approached the steps at the side of the stage. I heard Wheels make a blustery noise of disapproval, but it was too late. I strode up the steps and walked across the stage to the podium in the middle where Tippet stood, confused.

‘Where’s Detective Harvey?’ he hissed, then jolted back as his question reverberated into the microphone. The echo squealed. A couple of guys flinched.

I leaned in, taking his place. Spoke into the microphone. ‘Senior Detective Harvey has suddenly taken ill. I’m Senior Detective Pollard and I’ll fill in for him.’ I turned and smiled at Richard Tippet, a little thrilled to see dislike dripping from his pores. I wasn’t sure if he recognised me from our encounter at the supermarket. Wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t. I hoped he did, though.

‘It’s great to see so many concerned citizens here tonight,’ I said. ‘It’s an ongoing investigation, and it seems we’ve over-shot our quota of sharing details for the evening’—I looked pointedly at Wheels—‘but I can talk about the problem the town is facing with the current spate of drink spikings.’

A murmur swept through the crowd of men.

‘Several women have been victims of drink spiking in the last couple of months. We believe a man or a group of men are targeting women in pubs—’

From the side of the stage, the mayor cleared his throat loudly and began walking back to the podium.

‘—so please be vigilant. If you see anyone adding anything to a drink, or if you have any information, we want to hear from you. It is vital for the safety of everyone that we catch the offenders responsible for this.’

And my time was up. Richard Tippet was at my elbow leaning into the microphone. ‘Er, yes. Thank you, Detective er … ?’

‘Pollard,’ I said brightly. ‘Remember? We met at the supermarket.’

Tippet coloured. I returned to my seat in the front row. Wheels looked like thunder. Wozza still hadn’t returned to his seat.

CHAPTER 31: THE WAFFLES BARRIER

CHAPTER 31

THE WAFFLES BARRIER

He arrived after I got home. In the dark of the evening, the sweep of the headlights illuminated the paddock beyond the French doors. The fire crackled in the hearth and I had kicked off my shoes and curled up in Nan’s armchair, reading The Tattooist of Auschwitz. The author, Heather Morris, had found a golden kernel of love amid the blackness of the notorious concentration camp and I was engrossed. The gravel of the driveway crunched as a car pulled up.

Waffles gave a single bark. Just letting you know, boss: someone’s here.