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hair.
    ‘Where is your phone?’
    She nodded towards the table. On top of it rested their landline and her mobile. He crossed the room and picked up the mobile.
    ‘What’s your husband’s number?’ he said.

4
    F or a long time I couldn’t move. The floor swayed violently beneath me and Vince’s body with it. In fact, the whole room seemed to be moving as though it were no longer anchored to reality.
    Eventually I staggered forward and dropped to a squat beside him. I knew Vince was dead, but I yelled his name anyway. His lifeless eyes bulged open and he stared at a point beyond me.
    His skin seemed somehow shrunken and his mouth was pulled back in a rictus of death, revealing those familiar yellow tombstone teeth. But the blood that had spilled from two gaping head wounds was cool to the touch. It soaked his hair and pooled inside his left ear.
    Tears blurred my vision but I could clearly see the two wounds. One was just behind the top of his left ear. It looked as though the blow had crushed his skull. His hair and his blood filled the chasm. The other wound was above his right eye. That too was wide and deep and had cracked open his forehead. Some of his blood had spattered over the kitchen cupboards and the inside of the door. It was also spreading out across the lino.
    I looked away as a rising tide of emotion and revulsion threatened to overwhelm me. Surely this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.
    I looked around the kitchen. Above me the fluorescent strip light stuttered and hummed on the ceiling. Vince’s leather briefcase was on the floor next to the breakfast bar. There was a puddle of clear liquid around it. At first I assumed it was water, but then I saw an open bottle of champagne on the smart granite worktop and wondered if that had caused the mess. Next to the champagne something else caught my eye. A wad of cash. The top note was a twenty.
    What the hell had been going on here?
    The room suddenly started to move again and soon it was spinning around me. I shut my eyes and took deep, shaky breaths.
    Vince was dead.
    As I struggled to my feet the stark reality of what had happened hit me. My friend and partner was lying at my feet, soaked in blood, his head crushed.
    Murdered.
    The word slammed into me like a gust of cold wind. No way was this an accident. He hadn’t fallen over and hit his head on anything.That was obvious. Someone – some callous monster – had done this to him.
    Fear suddenly wrapped itself around my chest like steel bands.
    The killer might still be here, I thought. After all, Vince had been alive just over an hour ago when I spoke to him on the phone. Maybe that was why there’d been no lights on in the house. The killer – or killers even – heard me coming and switched them off.
    Shit.
    If there was more than one I’d had it. I too could soon be lying dead on the floor with my head splattered open like a coconut.
    But anger and grief made me blind to the danger. I spun round. Pulled open the cutlery drawer. Rummaged around until I found a large carving knife.
    Clutching it in my right hand, I went into the living room. Empty. As always it seemed to be heavy with the scent of lemon, as though it had just been cleaned. Nothing struck me as unusual. Nothing out of place. A newspaper on the coffee table. A mug half-filled with tea or coffee on the floor next to the sofa. A TV remote control on the armchair. Books neatly packed on shelves.
    I stepped back out of the room and mounted the narrow staircase slowly, pangs of fear rippling through my muscles. At the top was a small landing with three doors leading off it.
    I switched on the light, moved cautiously towards Vince’s study. On reaching the door I pushed at it gently with trembling fingers. Then I swallowed the fear that was climbing out of me and reached in to switch on the light.
    This room too was empty. The desk was cluttered with notebooks and more newspapers. The PC screen was glowing with a Windows