Rafferty heard his telephone ringing before he reached his office. He thrust the door open and snatched up the receiver.
'Appleby here, Joe.'
'Glad to find it's not only us poor detectives who work on a Sunday.'
'You know me, keen as mustard. I rang about those threads of fabric you found on the victim's desk. I thought I ought to let you know that they were from an expensive material. Cashmere, no less.'
'How long do you reckon they'd been there?'
'Not long, I'd guess. Whatever they came from was new fabric - it had never been washed or dry-cleaned. They were caught on the lower part of the desk, so, presumably came from a skirt or a pair of trousers. The black material was woven through with silver metal threads.'
'The glittery bits.' Rafferty nodded. 'They'd be some fancy pants, a
