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keep paying for things and I will make it up to you when I can, you know that, don’t you?’
    She ran a hand down his thigh and grinned. ‘Oh you’ll make it up to me all right, Doyle,’ she promised, ‘you’ll make it up to me big time.’

chapter 3
    ‘YOU’RE LATE!’ Detective Chief Superintendent Stoller commented from behind his newspaper as Fulton was ushered into his office on the middle floor of police headquarters.
    ‘Tell me about it,’ the big man retorted, a sour expression on his face as he dropped into a chair in front of the worn oak desk without offering any explanation.
    Stoller threw him a quick glance before returning to his newspaper. ‘I hope you washed your hands properly,’ he said.
    Fulton’s mouth registered a faint smile. He and Stoller went back a long way. In fact, they had gone through initial recruit training together twenty-seven years before and the balding ex-Royal Navy intelligence officer had spent even longer on CID than Fulton himself. Promoted to chief super from the National Crime Squad, Stoller had a shrewd analytical brain and was rated highly by the top team, having already been earmarked for assistant chief constable rank when a suitable vacancy was advertised.
    It was no secret that Fulton saw himself slipping into Stoller’s shoes the day his boss moved on, but jobs didn’t come with any guarantees in the police service and he knew there were those at chief officer level who would prefer to see him buried rather than promoted.
    ‘Not a very good photograph fortunately,’ Stoller said, folding the newspaper and tossing it across the desk. ‘But there’s as much info in the article as the detailed incident report your DI sent up here this morning.’
    Fulton’s face darkened when he opened the newspaper at arm’s length. The headline screamed at him: JUDGE’S LAST SITTING . Below was a fuzzy photograph of Lyall’s naked corpse slumped forward over the rope that tied him to the swing. ‘How the hell…?’ he began, his voice trailing off as he read on.
    ‘Easy enough with a telephoto lens,’ Stoller replied, ‘but I have to say it’s a rather unsavoury pic, even though it’s too dark to actually identify our man.’
    Fulton stopped reading for a second to throw him a baleful glance. ‘And what about this bloody headline?’ he blazed, stabbing the newspaper with a large finger. ‘It’s diabolical.’
    Stoller nodded. ‘Way out of line in my opinion, especially as there hasn’t yet been any formal identification or opening inquest by the coroner. As for the piece itself, while it doesn’t actually come up with a name, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Clear breach of the rules, I’d say. The chief constable is not at all amused and the force press officer is on her way to see the editor even as we speak.’
    ‘But how did they manage to get to the scene so soon after Lyall was found? Body went to the morgue just before I left and there was no sign of any press while I was there.’
    Stoller shrugged. ‘Probably a stringer living nearby – maybe did the job before you even arrived.’
    ‘Or one of our own after a quick buck.’
    Stoller winced. ‘That’s a bit harsh, even for you, Jack.’
    Fulton didn’t acknowledge the criticism, but finished speed-reading the article before tossing the newspaper back across the desk in disgust. ‘The whole lot’s in there,’ he said. ‘Every bloody detail.’ He made an angry gesture with one hand. ‘Now we’ve got sod all to keep back for interview if and when we pull anyone in. We’re totally stuffed.’
    ‘Maybe the post-mortem will turn up something?’
    ‘Yeah, maybe, but I wouldn’t want to hold my breath on that.’
    ‘When is it scheduled for?’
    ‘Probably tomorrow, once we’ve sorted out formal ID.’
    ‘And you’ll be there, I presume?’
    Fulton threw him an old-fashioned look. ‘No, I’ll be playing golf, what do you think?’
    Stoller gave a faint smile. He was