Why should anyone want to burgle my flat? Well, you’ve seen! There’s nothing worth nicking!’ Stephen sat down heavily at Kate’s kitchen table. ‘There isn’t now, certainly,’ Kate said. ‘Especially not in your filing cabinets. Either of them.’ She heaped sugar into a mug of tea, and passed it to him. Stephen drowned in a long slow flush. As the colour receded, he was left so pale she was afraid he might faint. ‘Head down. Right down. Long deep breaths,’ Sue Rowley said. ‘Better? Right, now, Stephen, we’ll get on to this straight away. But it’d be a big help if you could tell us precisely what’s missing. So I suggest you come back to the flat and have a quick look round and tell us. You know, just routine.’ ‘It isn’t just routine, is it? You don’t get a detective inspector and a detective sergeant every time a yob nicks your telly. You’re tying this up with Rosemary, aren’t you? And with what happened to Rosemary?’ ‘They could be connected,’ Sue said mildly.
