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any actual evidence linking it?”
    â€œWitness statements to say that Brian Fletcher-Norman was having an affair with Polly Leuchars. Witness statements going on about how unstable Barbara—that’s our body in the quarry—was, how she was jealous, an alcoholic.”
    â€œEvidence, Andy? Rather than village gossip?”
    â€œNothing yet. I reckon Barbara went over to confront Polly about her affair with Brian, got riled up enough to kill her, then went back to the Barn. Washed her hands, was overcome with remorse, drove drunk to the quarry, and went over. Accidentally on purpose.”
    â€œThanks for that, Sherlock.”
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    â€œIf you know anything more by tomorrow morning, come to the briefing?”
    â€œWouldn’t miss it.”
    Every little thing felt like flirting where Hamilton was concerned. Did he do it to everyone, or just to Lou? And how did you stamp your authority on the working relationship when there was this sort of history between you? Two months ago she’d been a DI, and his ranking equal. When it had happened, she’d been his sergeant. Her swift rise to DCI was all to do with her grim determination to get her head down and concentrate on work rather than let herself be distracted by men, or one man in particular—Andy Hamilton.
    Sooner or later she was going to have to have a chat with him. It wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it had to be better than this.
    She dialed the number for Mr. Buchanan’s secretary. No answer, of course, not at this time of night. She tried the mobile, and got the answering service.
    â€œSir, Lou Smith. Sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier. I’m guessing you were calling about the second case in Morden. I’ve sent Andy Hamilton over to establish links, if there are any. Hope this is okay. If you need me, the mobile’s on, otherwise I’ll brief you tomorrow first thing. Thanks. Bye.”
    With luck, Buchanan wouldn’t phone back tonight.
    The next person on the list was Jane Phelps, who had finally made it back to the office. Lou had worked with Jane before, had confidence in her.
    â€œHow’s the house-to-house?”
    Jane waved a small pile of papers. “All done for now. Area had covered most of it before we got there. Lots of people seem to be away on holiday—it’s that sort of place, weekenders and well-off families. And I tell you what, some of these women who sit at home all day planning lunch parties—it feels like all they want to do is gossip about their neighbors. You wouldn’t believe some of the things they’ve come up with.”
    â€œI think I know what you’re going to say, but carry on, I like a good goss.”
    â€œWell . . .” Jane rifled through the pages, handwritten at this stage. “Mrs. Newbury at Willow Cottage, she seems to think Polly was having an affair with Nigel Maitland. Apparently he’s the reason she came here to work.”
    Lou raised her eyebrows.
    â€œMarjorie Baker from Esperance Villa—honestly, I’m not making it up—seems to think it was Brian Fletcher-Norman that Polly was seeing. Saw Brian coming out of Yonder Cottage once late at night when she went round there to deliver a Christian Aid leaflet or something.”
    Just as Hamilton had said: Polly Leuchars and the man from the Barn across the road. But Nigel Maitland as well?
    â€œHave we got anything we can actually use?”
    â€œThe next house along, toward the pub, is Rowe House. Occupant’s a Mr. Wright, a weekender from London. He’s staying for the week with his two children because of it being half term. Says he was woken up at two fifteen by the noise of a car driving along the lane at speed. Didn’t look out of his window, went back to sleep.”
    â€œOkay. Let’s get a proper statement from him. Remind me, where does that lane end up if you follow it in that