‘Mark. Please. I’m so tired. I’m exhausted. I’m not doing this right now. All you need to know is I’m not having an affair, alright? Not with that bloke, not with anyone. I’m going to bed.’

30

Far from feeling refreshed after a night’s sleep, Caroline somehow woke even more drained than she had been the night before. She’d planned to head out and speak to Arthur Clifton, but didn’t feel she had the physical or mental energy to deal with it. The easiest and most sensible option would’ve been to send someone else, but that wasn’t an option. Caroline liked to see the whites of people’s eyes for herself.

She headed to the office’s kitchenette and made herself the closest thing to a double espresso she could muster — two teaspoons of coffee granules and a couple of splashes of hot water. She downed it in one go, then made herself a full cup of strong coffee. Before she’d finished, Derek Arnold poked his head around the corner.

‘Ah, Caroline. Can I have a quick word if you’ve got a sec, please?’

‘Yeah, course. Here, or…?’ She had a feeling she knew what the answer would be, and that she was about to find herself called into the Chief Superintendent’s office for the second time in a week.

She was right, and followed Arnold back to his office, clutching her hot mug of coffee. She sipped at it as Arnold spoke, now safe behind the comfort of his desk.

‘I’ve had another complaint from Reverend Peter Tottman,’ he said, folding his arms.

‘An official one? Or another little word in your ear?’

‘He says you were harassing his wife at the Empingham church fete.’

‘Harassing? Is that his word or yours?’

‘His.’

‘Right. Well obviously that isn’t the case. We were in the same room as each other, so naturally we spoke.’

‘What were you doing there?’

Caroline shrugged. ‘It’s a local church fete. I live locally, I decided to go along.’

‘With DS Antoine? On work duty?’

‘We were passing. There’s a line of inquiry we’re following up at present, which put a person of interest there, so we went along to observe and keep our ears to the ground.’

‘Who’s your person of interest?’

‘I’d rather keep that close to my chest for now, for operational reasons.’

‘Is the person a registered informant?’

‘No sir.’

‘I see. So are you going to tell me who it is?’

Caroline knew she had to have a watertight reason not to tell him. Procedurally, she was out of her depth. If she refused, she’d be off the case.

‘Patrick Walsh. The rugby player. We knew he’d be at the fete, so we went along to have an informal chat. When we got there we bumped into the reverend and his wife, so we got talking. That’s it.’