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breathalyzing you last night?’
    She leaned forward. ‘You do realize, Mike, if I had been over the limit he would have been forced to prosecute.’
    â€˜You wouldn’t have been over the limit,’ he said stoutly.
    â€˜You have such faith in my integrity? After all that’s happened?’
    His eyes flickered and he said nothing. But talking about the drive home last night had reminded her of something else.
    â€˜Does a white Merc, number plate RED 36, mean anything to you?’
    Mike nodded. ‘Charles Haworth,’ he said. ‘Flash accountant. Why?’
    â€˜He passed me at speed in a blizzard last night,’ Joanna said drily. ‘Just before PC Parry did me the honour of treating me to the breathalyzer.’
    Mike grinned. ‘You fancy nabbing him?’
    â€˜Just out of pique because he drove faster than me in a blizzard? Certainly not.’ Then she laughed. ‘Is he easily nabbable?’
    Mike shook his head. ‘Not really. For his reckless driving Haworth’s well known. He’s had quite a few cautions. But apart from that he’s clean – as far as any accountant’s clean.’
    She wagged her finger at him. ‘Naughty, Mike. Prejudice. I think I’d like to meet this accountant.’
    Mike’s eyes flickered. ‘Not your cup of tea,’ he said. ‘Not a bloody lawyer – or a doctor.’
    She let herself into the cottage to the sound of the phone ringing.
    It was Matthew. ‘It gave me a shock last night,’ he said, ‘seeing you there. I’d forgotten Tom is a solicitor.’
    â€˜Did you and Jane enjoy it?’ Even to her own ears she sounded formal and unnatural.
    â€˜Yes.’ His voice seemed strained.
    â€˜Matthew, why did you ring?’
    â€˜I wanted to tell you ... I thought ...’ he said. ‘I thought ...’ There was a long pause. ‘You looked wonderful. I really thought you looked wonderful.’
    She took the compliment coldly. ‘Thank you.’ And then all the closeness between them seemed to flood back. ‘Actually,’ she said, laughing, ‘I felt a bit overdressed.’
    â€˜Well,’ and he laughed too, ‘not many women would have turned up to the Legal Ball wearing a dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place at the Oscars Ceremony.’
    â€˜Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Was it really that bad?’
    â€˜No. Not at all. But everyone will have noticed what you wore.’
    There was another pause, then Matthew said, ‘Jo.’ He spoke very softly. ‘Please, can I see you?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Darling. You can’t avoid me forever.’
    â€˜No,’ she said again and dropped the phone like a hot brick.
    She sat motionless for a while, in turmoil after Matthew’s call. Then gradually she became aware of her surroundings again. And as she did so often when she was upset she opened the door of the glazed cabinet in the corner of the room. She had inherited the cabinet from her aunt when she was twenty-one, newly graduated from university with a psychology degree that had always been meant to lead her to a greater understanding of the criminal mind as well as a career in the police force. She knew the decision had been a disappointment to her parents, her mother bitter from the divorce, her father struggling to match his new wife in age and shed twenty years.
    But the aunt had understood Joanna’s career plan – and had approved, too. So her death came as a shock. And the pieces of antique furniture, together with the real treasure – a quantity of nineteenth-century Staffordshire pottery figures – she had left to Joanna were doubly precious. Sarah, her sister, called them her ‘dolls’ and taunted her when she found Joanna fingering them. But to Joanna they were her rogues’ gallery, hardened criminals made locally in the last century when the pious Victorians had had