house, and she watched as he crumbled toast and toyed uninterestedly with the scrambled egg. “You’re bored and frustrated, aren’t you?” she asked. “Yes. I won’t ask how you know. There are probably fifty different indicators that give me away.” “There are. And you’re frustrated because you’ve been stymied in your urge to investigate Dad’s death.” “Of course.” “Which police regulations, quite rightly, as you keep saying, stop you doing.” “Yes, quite rightly. It would be ridiculous otherwise. But that doesn’t stop me wanting to.” “You sound rather like a spoilt child. But since neither you nor I was that, I’ll treat it as an automatic reaction to a murder on your own doorstep. What you want to do, I take it, is to go round and interview a few suspects, possible witnesses and so on?” “If there’d been any possible witnesses in the quarry they’d surely have come forward by now. The quarry in late afternoon on a Sunday in December isn’t likely to attract crowds.”
