As we got into the car, Jane radioed through. The Crime Scene techs had arrived and were processing Merv’s house. They’d be a while. We had time to visit Doc Caldicott and get her thoughts on what could have killed Merv.

The reception area of the medical clinic in the main street had the usual semi-comfortable chairs, wooden legs, vinyl-covered seats in an olive green, old magazines with lies on the covers about baby bumps that history showed had never turned into babies, and a toy corner for sniffly youngsters, which was currently occupied by two such specimens. One had a cough that sounded like a seal, the other had red eyes with crusty corners. I avoided them both and headed straight to the counter. Wozza stopped to say hi to a man waiting in one of the chairs.

At the reception desk sat a woman in her mid-fifties with GAIL on a name badge pinned to her navy nurse’s cardigan. I was about to introduce myself, when she said, ‘Oh! You’re from the CWA this morning. Great talk you gave!’ Then she lowered her voice and looked around the waiting room. ‘And timely, if I do say so myself.’

‘Thanks.’ I lowered my voice to match hers. ‘We need to have a quick chat to Dr Caldicott, if she’s free. We’ve had a death …’

Gail looked concerned. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘The doctor should be finished in a minute. I’ll squeeze you in before the next patient.’

‘I’d really appreciate that,’ I said.

Just then, a door opened further up a corridor past the reception counter and a man walked out with his arm in a sling. Dr Caldicott, a woman about the same age as my mother, followed him out.

‘Take it easy on ladders next time, Dave,’ she said.

Dave grunted and shuffled past me.

Gail waved her over and nodded towards me and Wozza. I stepped forward and introduced myself to the doctor. ‘I called you earlier,’ Wozza added, coming over to join us.

She agreed to give us a moment of her time, and we followed her into the office.

‘Merv Evans?’ she asked as she sat heavily in her chair. She looked tired.

Wozza and I sat in the two chairs for patients. I got out my notebook and flipped it open to a clean page.

‘We’ve just come from Merv’s place,’ I told her. ‘He’s been deceased for a couple of days, as far as we can tell. Unless he’s being treated for a pre-existing terminal condition, there’ll be a post-mortem.’