‘Can you do me a favour?’ Claire asked, as Jennifer rose to leave.

‘Of course,’ Jennifer said, sitting back down on the worn swivel chair.

‘We have a new starter this afternoon. Her name is Zoe. She’s only twenty-six. I’d like you to take her under your wing, help her settle in.’

‘Sure,’ Jennifer smiled, still feeling like the newbie herself. The four months since she had joined had flown by. It wasn’t as if she had gone very far from her old office in Haven CID. Still on the same floor, she accessed her office through a security coded interconnecting door.

‘And if she asks about the operation name, tell her she can thank DI Cole. I think our boss fancies himself as a black James Bond.’

‘It’s better than the “Supernatural Homicide Investigation Team”, as suggested by Will.’ Jennifer chuckled at the acronym. ‘It’s funny; when I tell people I’m working under Operation Moonlight, most coppers just nod their head and pretend they know what it is.’

Claire nodded. ‘Men in black we ain’t. We’re still coppers and a crime is a crime, regardless of who’s doing the mopping up.’

DI Ethan Cole poked his head through the door, making Claire jump. A well-dressed and classically handsome young man, he didn’t have any psychic skills that Jennifer was aware of, but his enthusiasm for his job was palpable. Whether he was recruiting new staff or organising dawn raids, he gave the team one hundred and ten percent. While Claire was involved in the day to day running of the team, Ethan made all the major decisions, and bore the brunt of responsibility when things went wrong.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said, addressing them both. ‘I was wondering if Jennifer has time to attend The Cherry Tree pub with me. It’s a sudden death, sounds like it’s right up our street.’

Jennifer’s eyes lit up at the prospect of another case involving the supernatural. She quickly did the maths. A sudden death shouldn’t take too long, and the pub wasn’t too far away. There was plenty of time for Will to interview Emily for theft then release her to assist Jennifer with her enquiries on The Reborners cult.

‘Sure thing, boss,’ Jennifer nodded, a tingle of anticipation making her giddy inside.

[#]

She pushed open the back doors to the outside yard, welcoming the crisp, fresh air into her lungs. Spring was finally in bloom, and the weak afternoon sun battled its way through the clouds that had not long since shed a fine mist of rain.

‘Is this the hanging they were talking about earlier?’ Jennifer asked. Nowadays her police radio was always on, and attached to the slim-fitting waistband of her designer trousers. Since the incident with Frank Foster, she did not want to miss a thing. A serial killer more dead than alive, he had left his mark deep in her psyche, and she knew that it would not be long before someone like Frank found her again. But right now, her thoughts were with Ethan, and she was keen to hear what he made of the sudden death they were tagged to attend.

‘Yes, it’s another suicide by the sound of it,’ Ethan said, pushing back the car passenger seat to accommodate his long legs. ‘The victim isn’t even from around here. I wish people would kill themselves in their hometowns, and save me the paperwork.’

‘You should be a spokesperson for the Samaritans, boss,’ Jennifer said with a grin.

The right side of Ethan’s mouth jerked upwards in his signature half smile. He was looking a lot happier now he and his father had put their differences behind them. Heading Operation Moonlight was something he embraced, and Jennifer was proud to be part of his team.

‘The victim was found hung in his room,’ Ethan said. ‘There was no note, no sign of a struggle, and no forced entry. The informant mentioned a man posing as a fortune teller acting suspiciously the night before.’

As Ethan took the point-to-point call from the officer on scene, Jennifer began to feel a sense of unease creeping up on her. She drove in silence, straining to tune into the frequency of whatever was trying to warn her.

‘Steady, you’ll miss the turning,’ Ethan said, pressing his foot on an imaginary brake.

‘Oops, sorry, I was miles away,’ she said, hastily skidding the unmarked Ford Focus into the car park of The Cherry Tree pub.

Ethan introduced himself to the landlord, who was carrying a tray of tea and slightly curled sandwiches to an elderly couple at the far end of the bar.

‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ the thickset man said in a slow, tired drone.

‘Bit of a dive, isn’t it?’ Jennifer whispered to Ethan, as she leaned back on her elbows against the bar.

‘Yeah. I heard this place reopened, doesn’t look like he’s done much with it.’ Ethan lowered his voice as the barman returned and picked up a tea towel.

The landlord was surprisingly candid. ‘I’ll have to be quick. I’ve been running this place single-handed since the missus ran off.’ He began to methodically polish each glass before holding them up to the light and placing them on a weathered brown tray.

Ethan cast his eyes downwards, giving a curt nod. It was as close as he could get to offering sympathy. ‘You mentioned suspicious activity?’

He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to the pensioners picking at their lunch. ‘Old people and day trippers, that’s all we usually get in here. They like the specials. Mr Price and the bloke last night stuck out like sore thumbs.’

Jennifer frowned. Price. The name rang a bell. But she had dealt with so many people in the last few months that she would need more to go on.

The barman finished his last glass and slung the tea towel over his shoulder.

‘Price was over here from America. His parents used to own this place so he’d been renting a room for old time’s sake, or so he said. Most nights he sat there, downing pints and chasers at the bar. Then this scruffy-looking bloke came in. He latched onto Price soon enough, blooming sponger. Are you getting all this down?’ he asked, watching Jennifer scribble in her pocket notebook.

Jennifer flashed him a smile as she nodded and a pink tinge lit up his cheeks in return.

‘He didn’t seem to have much money but I pulled him a pint of Guinness and he drank it after he used the gents.’

‘How long was he here?’

‘Long enough to spread some cards across my bar and read Price his future. I only heard bits, but he said Price was going to hang himself. I thought it was some kind of wind-up until I found him dead.’

‘Do you think they knew each other?’ Jennifer asked.

‘I doubt it. Can I get you a drink? A coffee maybe?’ The landlord looked at her hopefully.

Jennifer shook her head. ‘No thanks. Do you think there was foul play with Mr Price?’

The man shrugged his shoulders, ‘I can’t say for sure, but he was as creepy as hell. I’ve worked behind bars long enough to be a good judge of character, and I didn’t like him one little bit.’

The landlord’s overheads did not stretch to CCTV, and Jennifer took a quick description of the man before joining her DI, who had gone to check out the body.

By the time Jennifer joined him, the corpse of Mr Price had been zipped into a stiff black body bag by the undertakers, who were trying to work out how they were going to get such a large man down the narrow winding staircase.

Ethan looked at his watch, keen to get away before he was roped into some strange manoeuvres with the corpse.

The outdated bedroom looked more like something from an episode of Most Haunted than a room guests would pay to sleep in. Discoloured woodchip paper hung limply on the walls, decorated by wisps of spider webs clinging to each corner of the room. A worn hemp rope hung from the thick beam overhead, and beneath it, a toppled wooden chair. In the corner of the room was an unmade single bed, beside a tightly shuttered Georgian window. The musty smell suggested it hadn’t been opened for some time. The smell also relayed the victim had soiled himself at the time of death, which made the cramped space unbearable. But Jennifer was not ready to leave just yet.