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what. The torchlight illuminated smuts on Larry’s hands, face and clothes. His shoes were scorched. He stank of smoke. His appearance suggested that he’d been closer to the fire than he now was.
    Frank looked at Larry. ‘On your feet, boy.’
    ‘You can’t bloody well tell me what to do. You…’
    Knowing there was no way he could touch him before forensic arrived, Frank resorted to his most authoritative prison warder voice. ‘Get up you lazy sod. Now!’
    The trick worked. Larry Jones scrambled to his feet.
    Three white suited and capped officers carrying forensic kits approached. They pulled on overshoes before stepping into the building.
    ‘Bag his hands and feet. Once you’ve done that, remove the contents of his pockets,’ Regina ordered.
    ‘And watch where you’re treading, he stinks,’ Frank added superfluously.
    Two officers moved gingerly forward and bagged Larry’s hands and feet in clear plastic before turning their attention to the contents of Larry’s pockets. They removed items one at a time with their gloved hands, sealing each in turn in a clear plastic bag before handing them to the third officer who stacked the bags in a plastic box.
    Reggie addressed the officer who was stacking the bags. ‘Step back here and hand me a pair of gloves please.’
    He moved, handed her a pair and she snapped them on.
    ‘Sergeant Howell, fetch a torch and shine it on this box for me, will you?’
    Frank Howell did as she asked. She flicked through the bags, selected one and removed it from the box.
    Huw peered at it.
    ‘What does it look like to you?’ Reggie asked.
    Even the covering of plastic could not dim the glittering stones.
    Huw recalled Michael’s description of the pieces his brother Lee had been working on. ‘Emerald and diamonds set in gold?’
    Regina turned to Larry and held up the bag so the light of the torch shone on it. He began to shake.
    ‘Where did you get this?’
    ‘I don’t know. I swear I’ve never seen it before…’
    ‘Itemise the rest of the contents of Mr Jones’s pockets,’ she ordered the officer holding the tray.
    He flicked through the bags. ‘Matches, cigarettes, lighter, cash… a lot of cash. Notes folded in a gold clip…’
    ‘I loaned people money before I went inside. I got paid back today,’ Larry protested defensively.
    ‘In emeralds, gold and diamonds and well as cash?’ Regina suggested derisively.
    ‘I swear I don’t know nuffin…’
    ‘Save your breath, Mr Jones. Sergeant, you know what to do. I’ll see you back at the station.’
    ‘Congratulations, Reggie, you’ve got your man,’ Huw complimented her.
    ‘Have I, Huw?’
    ‘He’s a known thug with a record. He had the jewellery Michael Pitcher described in his possession. He had matches, a lighter, cash…’
    ‘Don’t you think it’s just a little too pat?’ she asked.
    ‘You think he was framed?’ Huw asked.
    ‘I don’t know, Huw. All I know are my limitations. If you’ll excuse me I have to return to the station, wake up some people and set a murder investigation in motion.’
    Reggie sat in her office and looked across her desk at Inspector Carol March. ‘As soon as forensics has finished with him, I want you to conduct the interview.’
    ‘You’re the senior officer, ma’am.’
    ‘Whether you’re a natural or if it’s down to your degree in psychology, you’re the best interviewer we have. I’ve asked Sergeant Howell to set up the video camera. He’ll sit in with you. I don’t have to warn you…’
    ‘No threats, no pressure, nothing physical and by the book,’ Carol recited.
    ‘That’s why I want you to question Larry Jones and not one of the male officers.’
    ‘Thank you for your faith in me, ma’am.’
    Reggie sat back in her chair and watched Carol leave the room. She knew the other officers at the station called Carol March “Snow Queen” after the cold, dispassionate icicle-firing character in the Hans Anderson story.
    But this was one instance