IT WAS EVIDENT THAT one or both of the Scotts were keen gardeners, because the front garden was a riot of colour even in early April. Rafferty had been so het up that – as always at breaking the news to family – he had failed to notice on his previous visit. The scent of the now faded witch hazel still subtly lingered, wafting under Rafferty’s nose. He breathed in appreciatively before walking on the few further paces to the front door, stood for a moment, firmed his lips, then rang the bell.
Mr Scott opened the door and gave them a grim smile. ‘Inspector. Good of you to come so promptly. Come in. My wife’s in the lounge.’
Rafferty and Llewellyn went ahead, and Mr Scott shut the door. Rafferty sensed the man walking slowly behind, as if his life force had left him. But with two children
