PLOTS AND ERRORS :
Detective Chief Inspector Lloyd looked
at the two bodies in elderly Ford Fiesta, and sighed.
The man, he had never met. He was about Lloyd's own age - late forties, early
fifties; difficult to say at the best of times, and this was not the best of
times. He had more hair than Lloyd, but most people did. He had the same dark
colouring, but he was much bigger, taller. The car had been specially adapted
for a disabled driver; he was in the driving seat.
The woman he had met, and had worked with, but that was a long time ago now.
She had been twenty-four when he'd seen her last; she had left the job to marry
the man whose hand she had been holding while their car had filled with lethal
fumes, pumped through a vacuum-cleaner hose from the exhaust pipe.
The Medical Examiner straightened up from the car. 'Life pronounced extinct
' She looked at her watch. 'Eleven-seventeen a.m.,' she said, and smiled
at Lloyd. 'I'm a bit puzzled about why you're here, Chief Inspector. How come
you got called out? Am I missing something?'
'No,' Lloyd said. 'You're not missing anything. I'm not here on duty - the
officers dealing thought I'd want to know, that's all.'
He could hear his own Welshness when he spoke; usually his accent was very
carefully controlled, ranging from barely discernible to impenetrable, depending
on the impression he was choosing to give. It was when he got what Detective
Sergeant Finch called a gut-feeling that it popped out all by itself. From
his soul, he liked to think, rather than his gut.