I don’t answer. I don’t yet know who she is. The way she dominates everything she does proves she is a force of nature. Until I know more about her, there is no way I’m telling her anything that may come back to bite me.

A young cop runs over, his arms spread as if he’s herding cattle. ‘That’s far enough, Ms Rosenberg.’

‘Is that Chief Watson I see over there?’ She makes to brush past him but he shifts his feet to block her.

‘He’s there and I’m sure he’ll speak to you when he’s got something to say but right now he’s busy.’

I leave the young cop trying to obstruct the formidable presence that is Ms Rosenberg, and head back to the tent and Chief Watson.

I’ve heard of, but never met Ms Rosenberg. She is lead reporter for the Casperton Gazette and carries a reputation as a hard woman who brooks no obstruction in her search for the truth. According to legend, it is so long since anyone has used her Christian name even she’s forgotten what it is.

Regardless of her nature, she is a good journalist and her scathingly insightful articles are the main reason Casperton has so little corruption in public office. A cub reporter I’d once dated told me how Ms Rosenberg would spend much of her spare time scouring public documents in her search for irregularities in the finances.

She might not be a nice person or a careful driver, but she keeps the local politicians honest, which means we all owe her a debt of thanks.

Chief Watson sees me coming and leaves the dogwood bush to join me. ‘That was a good find you made there. The tyre marks go right to the water’s edge and then disappear.’

‘Do you think they’re relevant?’

He kneads his temples before answering. A sure sign of his stress. ‘I think it’s too much of a coincidence not to be associated. My guess is her killer moved her from the car park using a wheelbarrow, then dumped it into the reservoir to hide the evidence.’

‘Makes sense.’ I am stating the obvious, but it won’t hurt for him to have his opinions verified. He needs support, help carrying the burden before he has an aneurysm. ‘I spoke to Alfonse. We’ll be happy to offer you some help in an advisory capacity.’

‘Thanks.’ Already he is looking younger and less like a condemned man.

I hold up a hand to cut him off before he starts on another tack. ‘You’ll need to put Farrage and the rest of your detectives in the picture. Catching a killer is too important to waste time in pissing contests. If we get any grief from them, I’ll kick their arses then Alfonse and I will walk.’

Determination sets on his face making me fear I may have overplayed my hand by threatening his subordinates.

‘Farrage!’

His voice carries to the lieutenant who turns and walks over, contempt decorating his face and body language. ‘Yeah?’

I keep my face neutral as Chief Watson explains the new regime. Such is the ferocity of the chief’s words and tone, there’s no way Farrage can misunderstand the consequences of failing to obey.

As Farrage makes to return to his interview, the chief has a final warning for him. ‘If I learn there is one missing word or even a comma from any of the reports you send to me and Mr Boulder, you’ll be out on your ass and the first person I’ll explain your sacking to is Ms Rosenberg. Then I’ll take you round to see the families of the deceased so you can explain why playing games was more important to you than catching a killer. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, Chief.’

Farrage’s demeanour changes at the threat. Gone are the insolence and contempt. The twin threats of public humiliation and being forced to explain his actions to bereaved families are enough to make him sharpen up his act.

‘I shouldn’t have, but I enjoyed that.’

‘It’s been a long time coming, Chief. He deserves every word.’

I think Farrage has gotten off easy. In the chief’s position, I would have thrown punches at anyone who showed me the same lack of respect.

‘You got a strong stomach?’ Without waiting for my answer he starts walking towards the protective tent.

32

The smell of cooking meat wafts across the air causing my stomach to flip like an Olympic gymnast. I would have eaten before coming, but, after entering that tent, I didn’t trust myself to keep anything down.

The chief had filled me in on the details of Paul Johnson’s murder and had called back to the station to have the desk sergeant email me all of the reports.

Rounding the back gate, I find the party in full swing. There’s a couple of dozen of the usual crowd, plus a few of Claude and his girlfriend’s family members. I know most of the family members from past events. It’s a relief to see Claude has abdicated the chef’s position in favour of the barman’s role. Nobody will be sick from anything other than a hangover.

I grab a soda and join Alfonse who is talking to a group of friends. I hear him asking about Peter Lester, so I turn to a buddy I sometimes played pool with.

We shoot the breeze for a while until his girlfriend ushers him off to meet someone.

I keep my eyes open for anyone who may be able to help with our enquiries. Seeing a couple of girls I know, I wander across and join their company. I start with small talk, then begin to seed in the odd question. They give me straight answers, some of which are useful.

When I leave the group to get another soda, I’m surprised to see George Chalmers talking to Claude. Thinking about it, I realise that since Claude’s business has grown there’s every chance he now needs a professional accountant.

The bigger surprise is the girl linking arms with Chalmers. I’m no expert on the subject, but I’d say she’s at least six or seven months pregnant.

Ever the gentleman, Chalmers introduces me to the girl. ‘Mr Boulder, this is my fiancée, Ruth.’

Ruth’s face is a picture of contentment, and when she speaks her speech patterns and vocal intonations mark her as the perfect match for Chalmers.

Judging by the lilac twinset and the pearls around her neck, I reckon they’ve both met their soulmate. Their lives will be already planned out, right down to the Florida retirement complex they’ll move to.

They’ll live safe and sensible lives together with respectability. A pool boy or a secretary may engage them in a dalliance but they’ll never leave the security of their marriage.

What I can’t believe about their relationship is her being pregnant with only one ring on her finger. As far as I’m concerned, Chalmers is too careful.

As they move off to talk to other guests, I turn to Claude. ‘How long they been together?’

‘I think they hooked up some time last year. It must have been before I opened the new shop. They were at the opening party. They’re a natural couple don’t you think?’

I remember the opening party, but I don’t recall seeing Chalmers there. Although I do remember being somewhat distracted by the attentions of Claude’s rather forward cousin.

Casting my mind back and doing some mental arithmetic, I work out Chalmers must have met Ruth a month or so after splitting from Kira.

I keep my eyes on them as I talk with Claude. Everything about their interaction depicts them as a genuine couple. If Chalmers is faking it to cover his feelings for Kira, he should be a Hollywood star not an accountant in a town like Casperton.

Throughout the evening, I make sure to circulate and speak to everyone I want to. As alcohol loosens tongues, I learn lots of different things but only a small fraction of it is useful. Having already agreed to meet at his place after the party, Alfonse and I stay apart to better talk to as many people as possible.

A game of water polo starts in the pool, but I keep my distance.