Thompson let in the clutch and the car pulled away smoothly. Something prompted him to switch on the car radio. It crackled instantly into life.

'Mike? It's me, Ken. I've been trying to reach you all morning.'

'What is it, Ken?'

'Wilson wants your warrant card.'

'He what?'

'Wants you to drop it off at the station.'

'What for?'

'Search me. He said if you're only sitting behind a desk doing paperwork, there's no need for you to have it. Bit of bad feeling, I reckon. Anyway, that isn't why I called you.'

'Why, then?'

'Pathologist's report is in. If you want a copy......'

'Yes?'

'There's a copy being posted to you tonight. Just keep quiet about it.'

'Don't post it, Ken. Meet me at the café in Bridge Street in fifteen minutes. You can give it to me then.'

'All right.'

'How are the others doing?'

'Well, the two guys from the city are at the hospital checking out the officers Clitheroe did over. Jock's gone back to Lynn.'

'Poor old Jock.'

Ken laughed.

'He means well, but he's really only an administrator.'

'Anything else happening? Anything I should know about?'

'Not really. Have you got the Clitheroe file?'

'I have a copy. Why?' Thompson still had all his major case files on his home computer. Just in case. You never knew. You just never knew.

'I should read it again, if I were you. It makes interesting reading.'

'Anything in particular?'

'All of it in particular. Funny place, Sharringford.'

‘What do you remember about Sharringford, Ken?’

‘Sharringford? What, a few weeks back? The fire and that?’

‘Anything else? I’m having trouble remembering any details. Was there something about Joanna Robertson?’

‘Who?’

Thompson frowned. Everyone knew Joanna Robertson. Ken should have recognised the name from the Kim Catchpole case. She had been staying with the Robertsons, for Christ’s sake! He was covering something up.

‘Joanna Robertson. Kim Catchpole was staying with her before going to stay with Kerry Macklin. I’m sure I remember you turning something up on the Robertson woman…..

He could almost see Ken Hargreave’s florid face frowning, trying to recall the gorgeous blonde from the village that had almost burned down.

‘Sorry, you sure it was me?’

I’m sure, Ken, sure as I’ve ever been about anything. Aloud, he said: ‘Doesn’t matter now, Ken. See you in fifteen minutes.'

'I'll be there.'