They bickered to such an extent each morning that they might as well have been married. The plump Antiguan landlady (she still thought of Bryant as her tenant) attempted to reform Bryant by tricking him into church attendance, goodwill whist drives and assorted charity events, but he invariably saw through the subterfuge and reminded her that his adherence to paganism precluded any chance of a late conversion.

‘Will you be home in time for dinner tonight?’ Alma asked, waggling a cake slice between thick brown fingers.

‘That depends on the form of culinary witchcraft you’re intending to inflict upon me.’

‘I’m baking a mutton pie with sweet potatoes, callaloo and cornbread.’

‘If I’m back in time, I’ll join you at supper. I don’t suppose another hour in the oven will adversely affect the texture of your concoctions.’

Alma folded her arms against him. ‘You’re a very rude man, Mr Bryant. I don’t know why I put up with you.’

‘Because you know the quality of your life would be immeasurably poorer in my absence,’ said Bryant, pushing his luck. Still, Alma could hardly disagree. The old detective had always brightened her days with surprises, even if many of them had proven disagreeable. If he appeared with a bunch of daffodils, there was a good chance that a neighbour would call to indignantly demand their return to the front garden from which they had been torn. The thing about Bryant was that he always meant well. She was filled with a patient and loyal adoration for him that defied sense or logic.

‘I thought you said the unit was quiet at the moment. Do you have to go in?’

‘Raymond Land is thinking of holding a retirement party for our medical examiner, and wants me to help him arrange it,’ he explained. ‘It could take a while, as I have to plot out a number of unpleasant practical jokes for the evening’s festivities.’ Oswald Finch, the only member of London’s Metropolitan Police Force who was older than Bryant and still gainfully employed, had finally made good his promise to leave the Peculiar Crimes Unit, although why he thought he would be happier in Hastings than in a mortuary mystified Bryant. Everyone assumed that the irascible pathologist was to be replaced by Giles Kershaw, the Eton-educated junior staff member whom Finch had trained to take over unit operations at the Bayham Street Morgue.