A hammering at the door started Watters out of sleep. He stared around him, momentarily unsure where he was. Marie was in the chair opposite, still holding a sleeping Patrick, while the ashes were cold in the grate.
The hammering came again, more urgent than before.
“Sergeant Watters!” Scuddamore’s voice sounded through the closed door.
“What the devil?” Watters threw off the cover, rasped a hand over his unshaven chin and staggered to the door. “Scuddamore! What the devil do you mean banging on my door?” He spoke in a hoarse whisper. “You’ll wake the baby!”
“Sorry, Sergeant,” Scuddamore said. “Mr Mackay said to fetch you, Sergeant. There’s been a development.”
“There’s been a what?” Still half asleep, Watters stepped aside to allow Scuddamore to enter the house, pulling a cover over
