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their tea.
    He and Lynne had a routine that worked well. He talked to both boys about their day, and had a few minutes with her on the phone afterwards. She accepted the lot of a detective’s wife without complaint. That was a rare thing, in Parker’s experience, and something for which he was eternally grateful. The call home, though brief, was the highlight of his day, followed closely by their exchange of emails.
    He went back to a thorough inspection of the upstairs of Janson’s cottage, continuing with detailed notes of each of the framed awards. At this stage, he wasn’t trying to infer much from the contents, just to get the details down in his notebook. They would go over them together later and see what avenues needed further exploration. Right now, the important thing was to gather the information, accurately and completely. The challenge of putting it all together came later.
    Monday, May 6, Conquest Hospital Mortuary, Brighton , 12.50PM
    Jake didn’t want to delay anyone for long but he wanted to say something about Steve Tucker. He had called a brief staff meeting.
    He was well aware that Tucker was an unpleasant individual and probably always had been. Not attractive, even to his mother, would be Jake’s guess. Twenty-six years old but with a mental age of around thirteen, and that was on a good day. Five feet three inches of rampant body odour, he had the habit of fondling his genitals. In public, or private, it made no difference. Well, not to him, anyway.
    His skin had the texture of someone who has dedicated their life to smoking as much as possible during their waking hours. It followed of course that with such dedication to nicotine came a certain amount of phlegm, so spitting was another facet ofTucker’s charm. This was usually done with the same rules as the genital gymnastics…anywhere that took his fancy, and with little or no regard to the comfort or safety of anyone in the vicinity. Although if there was a handy wall within range, it was more entertaining to half of his brain cells to watch it dribble the way gravity dictates. The other brain cell was occupied with breathing, noisily through a permanently open mouth.
    With his round face and pop eyes, heavy eyelids and bags to match, he looked like an overgrown bug with blackheads.
    Jake could well understand why the women Tucker worked alongside were disgusted by him. But Jake was also touched by a feeling of “There but for the grace of God”.
    ‘You have to reinforce the message,’ he explained to Angie, Mel and Clare, hoping that if he could get them onside, the other women would at least give Tucker another chance.
    ‘What? Rewarding good behaviour? Is that what we’re talking about?’ Clare asked.
    Jake nodded. ‘If he thinks there is a good reason for having a shower every day, then he might do it without me having to nag him about it, that’s all.’
    ‘So you want us to praise him for making an effort to clean himself up?’ asked Melanie. ‘Right?’
    ‘Bit like a puppy, when you’re trying to toilet train it?’ Clare was an expert in such matters.
    Angie could be relied on to see the funny side of any situation.
    ‘So, can I smack him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper whenever he gets out of line?’ she asked, innocently. ‘That’s okay with you?’ The other two girls were instantly convulsed with laughter.
    Jake couldn’t help but laugh himself. ‘Well, if all else fails, maybe we’ll try that,’ he answered.
    The meeting was over. Jake was pleased to have taken some action but not at all convinced that his words with Tucker wouldhave any lasting effect. Neither were the girls.
    They all liked Jake very much but thought he was too nice about Tucker. They all wondered why.
    ‘Maybe misplaced guilt,’ said Angie, when they discussed it over sandwiches in their usual spot outside the hospital.
    Melanie frowned.
    Angie went on. ‘It’s obvious. If you’re tall, blond, gorgeous and very, very fit, not