‘We’ve got first responders on the scene at the moment, but from what we can gather so far, Arthur was walking up the driveway to Alice Clifton’s house in Empingham when he was attacked. Too early to get too much detail, but it looks like a heavy blow to the back of the head, plus strangulation. Again.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Caroline sat down in the nearest chair and tried to gather her thoughts. ‘When?’

‘Literally within the last hour. Alice Clifton heard something outside and went to look out the window. She says she saw someone running away, but it was so dark she couldn’t make out anything else.’

‘What the hell was Arthur doing there at that time of night?’

‘No idea. But apparently he stinks of alcohol. Either way, if we’re assuming his and his brother’s murders are linked, it can’t have been Patrick Walsh. We’ve had him in custody since before lunch.’

‘I know, Sara. I know. Jesus. I need a minute. Sorry.’

‘It’s fine, don’t worry. I think we can safely say the killer’s getting desperate, though. Look at what happened with Roger. That must’ve been planned meticulously. With Arthur, it’s a case of jumping him in the dead of night while he’s a few beers down, then scarpering. Whoever it is, they’re panicking.’

‘Or they desperately needed Arthur Clifton dead there and then.’

‘In which case, we need to find out why.’

‘Have you spoken to Chief Superintendent Arnold?’

‘Not yet, no. I thought you should be the first to know.’

‘Alright. Dexter’s still downstairs. Let him know what you know. I’ll call Arnold.’

Caroline waited for Sara to disappear out of sight, then she grabbed her keys and headed down to the car park. On her way, she called Derek Arnold. He picked up his phone just as she got to her car and sat inside.

‘Caroline. How’d it go?’ Arnold said.

‘The interview? Not amazing. He shut down and started no-commenting, then demanded representation. Aidan’s trying to get hold of an on-duty brief. Listen, something’s happened. We’ve just had a call. There’s been another murder.’

Arnold was silent for far longer than Caroline would’ve liked before speaking. ‘Who?’

‘Arthur Clifton,’ Caroline said, almost whispering.

‘The brother?’

‘Yeah. The brother.’

‘What happened?’

‘Same MO.’

‘I see.’

‘That’s all we know right now. I’m heading over to the scene now to see what I can—’

‘No,’ Arnold said, interrupting her.

‘Sorry, sir?’

‘No. No, you’re not. Go home, Caroline. Get some sleep. We’ll speak in the morning.’

Something in his tone of voice didn’t quite sound right to her. ‘Sir, I’m fine. Is something the matter?’

‘I think it’d be better to talk about this in the morning, once we’ve both had some sleep.’

‘I’d rather talk about it now, if that’s okay.’