The warrant officer informed Keene at half past five that Charles and Sheila Catchpole had been located in London. They had been informed that something had happened to Kim and were travelling back on the first train to King's Lynn, due to arrive within the next hour.

Keene and Moore abandoned their planned early evening meal, following which they had intended spending the rest of the evening in the public house on the main road from Holt to Cromer, an establishment they had noticed on their way back from the Cromer hospital. Instead they set off in the opposite direction, to cover the twenty-five miles to King's Lynn, where they were to break the news to them about their daughter.

A hurried report regarding the discovery of Clitheroe's body was typed and faxed to Chief Superintendent Wilson in Norwich, and a phone call was made to King's Lynn station asking the station master to accommodate the Catchpoles until they arrived.

They arrived at King's Lynn at six fifteen to find a porter who informed them that the train had been delayed at Cambridge and was expected to arrive within the next five minutes.

'How will we know them?'

'I've seen a photograph of him,' Keene said.

'Train's coming.'

'You reckon we'll find them all right?'

The porter laughed.

'You'll find 'em,' he chuckled. 'Like as not they're the only ones on the bleedin' train!'

He walked off laughing at his subtle joke. When the train finally stopped, he was not far out in his calculation. The passengers numbered precisely five, one young couple had travelled from Texas to stay with relatives near the air base for a few days, had been travelling for fourteen hours, looked and felt exhausted. A pretty girl with waist-length black hair and carrying what appeared to be a school bag got out of the first class carriage, followed a second or two later by Charles and Sheila Catchpole.

'Mr and Mrs Catchpole, I am Detective Sergeant Keene and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Moore.'

'Never mind all that!' Catchpole barked, 'what has happened to Kim?'

'If you'll come with us, Sir, Madam.....'

The policemen started to walk out of the station to the car park, with the others following.

'Look, I think we've a right to know......My wife is very upset.....Please tell us what has happened to Kim!'

Moore held open one of the back doors for Catchpole, Keene did the same for his wife.

'Your daughter......has been murdered,' Keene said quietly. He was young, inexperienced at breaking such news, especially to parents. He was as gentle, as diplomatic as he could be under the circumstances.

He heard Sheila Catchpole stifle a scream with a handkerchief, and continued with his most unpleasant of tasks.

'There is no easy way to say this, I'm afraid. Kim's body was discovered yesterday morning. She was murdered.'

He had been going to say 'raped and murdered', but thought better of it. Better to let them get used to the fact that their daughter had been murdered first.

'Why?' Catchpole muttered hoarsely.

'Why?'

'Who......why was she murdered? Who did it?'

'We are pursuing various lines of enquiry, Mr Catchpole. Rest assured that we will find whoever did it, very soon.' He saw little point in telling them about Clitheroe at this stage. Let them come to terms with the loss of their daughter first.

Sheila Catchpole sat in the back of the car, her head moving jerkily from side to side, her eyes moist with tears, her nose running. She made no sound, but everyone was aware of the inner turmoil she was suffering. Catchpole, too, slumped back against the seat, his eyes closed, tears running silently down his cheeks. It was one of those moments when both officers wondered why they had ever joined the police force.

'Where is she now?' Catchpole whispered.

'You'll be able to see her tomorrow, Sir.'

'Where is she now?' Catchpole repeated.

'At one of the undertakers, I understand. A post mortem has been carried out.....'

'How did she die?'

'Don't you think we should get you home......'

'How did she die, Sergeant?'

'She was strangled, Sir.'

'Anything else?'

'Sir?'

'Was she.......attacked?'

Oh, Christ! thought Keene, I'm going to have to tell them.

'She was raped, Sir.'

Sheila Catchpole’s crying intensified. The rasping breathing and silent sobs turned to great bursts of loud, tormented crying and she leaned against the front seat, clutching her forehead, sniffling noisily into her handkerchief.

'I think it's best if we get you home, now, we'll get your doctor to call on you.....'

'Do you know who did it?' Catchpole said. His voice was breaking up. Keene desperately wanted to say to him that they knew who the murderer was and that they were close to apprehending him. Sadly, that was no longer the case.

'Not yet, Sir, no.'

He started the engine and reversed out of the car park and drove silently into the King's Lynn one-way system.

The journey to the Catchpoles’ home in Muncaster was completed in an eerie, unreal silence. Moore made a telephone call to the family doctor from the house, and he promised to be there within the half hour.

'Can I get you a drink, Sergeant?' Catchpole asked. He had recovered some of his composure.

'No, thank you.'

'What about your colleague?'

'No, Sir, not for us, thanks. Look, you sit down, I'll make you a cup of tea.....'

Catchpole shook his head.

'No, that's all right, Sergeant, we'll be fine.'

He looked down at his wife, who was sitting on the settee, rocking backwards and forwards, clutching her stomach as though in considerable pain. Her eyes were red from crying. Her make-up had run. She looked frightful.

'The Doctor will be here very soon, he'll be able to give you both something......to help you through the night. We'll call round in the morning and take you to see......if you want to, that is.....'

Catchpole nodded.

'Thank you, Sergeant, certainly one of us will want to see her. I'm not sure if Sheila......look, you two can push off, now, we'll be fine.....'

'If it's all the same to you, Sir, I think we'll just wait until the doctor gets here......'

'As you wish.'

'Plenty of time for questions in the morning,' Moore said, and Keene shot him a thunderous glance.

'Questions?'

'Well, there are one or two things we'd like to know, of course, the arrangements you made for Kim while you were away. How long you were actually away, that sort of thing. It can wait until the morning.'

'Yes,' Moore agreed blankly.

'Do you think your wife would be better off in bed, Mr Catchpole?'

'She'll be fine, she'll be fine.'

Catchpole seemed to have lost interest in his wife's intense grief, preferring to withdraw into his own shell. He thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets and paced the room nervously, peering out of the window every now and then to see if the doctor had arrived.

It was seven forty-five.

Moore sat staring at the walls, his mind a blank, his head beginning to ache. Keene hovered around Catchpole, anxious in case the man should collapse. Stranger things had happened. Mrs Catchpole continued to sob uncontrollably into her handkerchief, her husband unable or unwilling to offer her any kind of support.

Nobody spoke.

At eight minutes past eight a car drew up outside the house and a man got out carrying a black doctor's bag.

Keene opened the door.

No introductions were needed.

Keene and Moore waited in the kitchen while the Doctor, a stocky, sombre man in his mid-fifties treated his two unexpected patients. A few minutes passed, then Catchpole and his wife were seen going up the narrow staircase. Catchpole was a good three paces behind her, and made no attempt whatsoever to hold her, or support her in any way. The doctor entered the kitchen.

'Strange couple,' he observed. 'I've given her a sedative. She should sleep.'

'And Mr Catchpole?'

'Wouldn't have it. I offered. No point in forcing him. Well, I'll look in on them again during the morning. Catchpole said something about you taking them to see their daughter tomorrow?'

'That's right. We'll pick them up around nine o'clock. We should be back here by ten.'

'That's fine, I'll see them after morning surgery. They're not really my patients, but my colleague is on holiday this week.'

'Will they be all right on their own, tonight?'

'They should be. I asked them if there was anyone I could contact on their behalf, as I guess you probably did, too. They said not.'

'You think there's something wrong between them?'

'I've no idea. Why do you ask?'

'You said they were a strange couple, Doctor.'

'Didn't they strike you as strange?'

'In what way?'

'Well, I would normally expect to find a husband comforting his wife at a time like this. Wouldn't you?'

'They hardly spoke to each other since we picked them up at the station.'

'No. Strange.'

'Maybe......'

'Yes?'

'Oh, nothing, really. Not everyone reacts the same as we would. Or think we would.'

'No, indeed. It would be a strange world indeed if everyone was exactly the same. I'll bid you good evening, gentlemen. May see you tomorrow. Sad business, sad business.'

'I'll just tell him we're going,' Keene told Moore, after they had seen him to the door.

'I'll be glad to call it a day.'

'Not what we expected, eh?'

They abandoned their plan to drink the night away, and instead went straight home to their digs, where the landlady had a most welcome roast dinner waiting for them. It had been a truly awful day, and they were glad to see the back of it.