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Hunter smoothed a hand over his freshly shaved jaw-line, slowly rotating his head side to side, back and forth. Happy with the result, he rinsed his razor in the hand basin and then raked a comb of fingers through his receding mane.
    Ten minutes previously he had been lingering in the shower longer than he normally did and with the water temperature as high as he could stand. It was always like this after post-mortems; a long hot shower was the only way he could rid himself of the smell of death.
    He had confined most of his clothing to the washing machine, though his suit jacket hung outside on the clothes line, swinging in the cold late autumn breeze.
    Removing the towel from his waist, he dabbed at his damp hair and then fingered his smooth chin thoughtfully. He had a flashback of the earlier post-mortem. He thought he’d seen it all during his years of investigating murders but the discovery of the key in Jeffery Howson’s stomach had left him open-mouthed and it had provided a hot topic of conversation upon his return to the office, where he had met up with Grace, Mike Sampson and Tony Bullars who had scaled down their enquiries for that day.
    Scenes of Crime and Forensics had made a preliminary examination of the house, but with darkness drawing in, they had secured 12 Woodlands View and planned a full search and inspection in the morning. Prior to clocking off, they’d had a scrum-down with Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw, giving him an overview of events. Their SIO wanted them in for an 8am briefing and then he had ended with a comment that had Hunter puzzled.
    Not only did he remind them he would see them all later  -MIT had a curry booked at a local Indian restaurant to celebrate the outcome of the ‘Lady in the Lake’ case - but added that he had something important to announce.
    As Hunter finished drying himself he pondered on the detective superintendent’s earlier words.
    It must be something of significance, Hunter told himself, otherwise why would he have felt the need to make the comment?
    His thoughts drifted to the evening ahead.
    The Major Investigation Team had been going for a curry on a regular basis since its inception two years ago, and although on this occasion it had been booked to celebrate the successful result from their last case, some of the team, himself included, suggested they invite their respective wives, husbands or partners. There had been a few objections, most notably from Barry Newstead and Mike Sampson, but the majority had agreed upon partners joining.
    He smiled at his reflection. He knew it wouldn’t be long into the meal before Beth would be kicking his ankles beneath the table. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, he knew from previous gatherings that before even the first drink was consumed to toast the MIT’s latest conquest, talk would soon get around to this latest murder enquiry.
    Over the years he had made so many promises to Beth about avoiding such talk, but he seemed to break them almost on every occasion.
    If only he could explain the buzz he experienced from doing his job.
    There would be one consolation for Beth. She would be rescued part way through the evening by Grace, leaving him to engage in boy’s own stuff, while his wife and work partner huddled into a corner, sharing a bottle of wine and chatting.
    The sudden peal of music drifting up from the lounge downstairs snapped him out of his thoughts. He recognised the opening track of James Blunt’s ‘Back to Bedlam’ album.
    He turned back to the mirror, once again moving his head from side to side, this time checking the few grey hairs at his temples.
    The years are creeping up on me , he said to himself, stroking the right side of his hair.
    He flexed his pectorals and tensed his shoulders so that the muscle was rippled and defined. The regular workouts at his father’s boxing gym kept him in good shape.
    “Posing as usual, Hunter Kerr?”
    Beth made him jump. She had crept upstairs