Once Mark had left to take the boys to school, Caroline gathered her stuff and decided to head straight to work. There didn’t seem much point hanging around an empty house, and in any case there’d be plenty for her to do once she got in.

The police station on Station Road — named for the trains, rather than the police — was only a ten-minute walk from home, but she could drive it in five. She still hadn’t got over the novelty of being able to drive somewhere quicker than she could walk it. In London, that was almost unheard of. Besides, she didn’t feel like walking today. She hadn’t felt like walking any other day either, but she felt sure her time would come.

She climbed into her car, backed out onto the street and headed towards town.

Although most of Oakham’s population knew the location of one police station next to the council offices on Catmos Street, many were unaware it was only really an enquiry desk and that the main police office was tucked away on Station Road, behind and within the grounds of Oakham School. In true austerity style, the original police building had been sold to the private school, and the current police office had been built on its own former car park.

The town was heaving with students, which charged boarders more than £11,000 a term, and whose campus was spread across all corners of Oakham. Caroline waited patiently with her indicator on until a group of students noticed her and waited for her to pull across the footpath and into the grounds of the police station.

The difference between her last workplace and this one could not have been starker. Caroline had been used to modern glass buildings and tower blocks in her time with the Met, and now she was working in a glorified hut in a school car park. If anything, for her it highlighted the continuity and immovability of policing. Two completely different locations, but much the same job.

‘Morning, Dex,’ she said as she opened the door to the CID suite and headed for her office. ‘No-one else in yet?’

‘Not yet. Still early, though. And there might be traffic.’ Caroline raised an eyebrow. These people didn’t know traffic. The closest she’d seen to rush hour carnage in Rutland was a queue of three cars waiting to cross the railway line while the barriers were down. ‘Although, if you’ve got a couple of minutes, I’ve been doing some research. A couple of things which might be of interest.’

Caroline went over to Dexter’s workstation, tugging a chair along with her, and sat down beside him.