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to stop them, was he, from getting away?”
    “I don’t know. I suppose so. Tell the truth, I didn’t really see. I was still behind the counter, ducked down out of the way.” She smiled and he moved his hand and there it was—damn!—thick and gold and looking as if it could do with a bit of a shine. Third finger, left hand.
    “You didn’t actually see, then, what happened? Which one of them hit him?”
    “Had to be him, didn’t it? The one who did all the talking. I mean, he was the one with the hammer. The other one, the little bloke, he just stood there like a spare part, never done a thing.”
    “Do you think either of the others would have seen—the manageress, for instance—do you think they would have seen the blow being struck?”
    “I don’t know, I doubt it. I mean, Marjorie might, ask her. But Becca …”
    “That’s the manageress?”
    Lorna sucked in her cheeks and put on an accent. “Rebecca Astley. Little Miss Hoity-Toity. Real mardy, she was. Scraightin’ and carrying-on.”
    “Lots of people panic, situations like that.”
    “Even so.”
    “You were the one sounded the alarm, though.”
    “That’s right’
    “Not easy, thinking what to do.”
    “Thanks.”
    “No, I mean it.”
    For a second, Lorna touched her hand to the frame of her glasses. “So noisy in here, isn’t it? Hardly hear yourself think.”
    Naylor glanced over his shoulder and saw Divine grinning right back at him. “Been like this for a couple of days,” he said.
    “There isn’t anywhere else …” She waited until he was looking at her again. “There’s nowhere quieter we could go? You know. Somewhere else?”
    “Yes,” Naylor said, standing, feeling himself starting to go red. “We could try.”
    Lorna was on her feet already, noticing the way he was blushing and not caring, thinking it sweet. So what if he did wear a ring, that didn’t have to mean so much, did it? Not these days?
    “What’d I tell you?” Divine called above the sound of hammering. “Over the side and no messing.”
    “Your trouble,” Lynn Kellogg sang back. “Judge everyone by your own standards. Least, you would if you had any.”
    Divine was still laughing when Resnick came into the room. “Busy, I see, Mark?”
    “Yes, boss.”
    “Best take a rest, then. Tea break.”
    “No, you’re all right …”
    “Get yourself over to the deli, fetch me a couple of sandwiches. Ham and cheese and a chicken mayonnaise and salad. Mustard on both. Right?”
    Divine took the proffered five-pound note and headed for the door.
    “How’s it going?” Resnick asked, pausing alongside Lynn and Marjorie.
    “Slowly,” Lynn replied. And feeling Marjorie’s sagging disappointment, added, “But I think we’re getting there.”
    “Good.”
    Resnick opened the door to the partitioned section that formed his own office and willed the phone not to ring until Divine had come back with his sandwiches, at least until he had got as far as sitting down. He had his second wish by as much as five seconds. Graham Millington was calling in from somewhere between Staple-ford and Sandiacre where what might have been the getaway car had been found abandoned.
    “If wrapped around a Keep Left sign constitutes being abandoned,” Millington added.
    “Hang fire,” Resnick said into the phone. “I’ll be right out.”
    “Got myself a packet of crisps,” Divine grinned when Resnick intercepted him on the stairs.
    “Your money, not mine,” said Resnick, taking hold of the bag containing his sandwiches, pocketing his change. “Come on, you’re driving. I’ll eat these as we go.”

Six
    Graham Millington had been Resnick’s sergeant for a little over five years and was beginning to think that six would be too long. Not that he had anything against his immediate superior, far from it. When some of the others started grumbling into their pints and calling Resnick for being too soft by half, too airy-fairy in his ideas, Millington always squashed them