Nat brings two pints over to our quiet table in a quaint back-street pub. "Cheers," she says as she settles into the corner. "Here's to inter-force co-operation."

I drink to that. "I did a bit of googling while you went home." I backtrack slightly. "So...my girlfriend is a bookseller, much more literary than me. She's also quite good as a sounding board sometimes."

"Oh aye?" Nat's raised eyebrow may be out of interest in what I'm about to say.

"Is that unprofessional of me? To let slip work at home?" Nat shrugs and lets me go on. "OK. So. Apparently, there's some people out there who don't think Shakespeare actually wrote Shakespeare, if you see what I mean." Nat nods. "Claire says that they have some weird ideas. She wondered if my man was one of these authorship nuts."

Nat roots in a pocket of her jacket. "Carry on."

"The main candidates for the 'real' Shakespeare are other prominent Elizabethans – better-educated ones, noblemen and such like. Marlowe and Bacon amongst them." I swallow some beer. "Do you know how Marlowe died?"

Nat passes me a piece of paper in an evidence bag. "This came back earlier. It has the same fingerprints on it as are here and there in our lass's study. The prints that brought us together."

It is a list of four names, on the back of a piece of scrap, in biro. Two of the names have been crossed out: our two victims. I feel the thrill of the chase run up my spine, with the possibility that another crime is in the offing – and we might be able to prevent it, if we connect the dots quickly enough. As I'm staring at the list, Nat fiddles with her phone then grunts. "Sod you, Bacon."

"Hmm?"

She turns her phone, and I slide nearer to have a look. Under the table, our thighs brush together. She points to the screen. "Bacon died of pneumonia. Not being battered across the head."

"Marlowe was stabbed in the eye, though."

Nat leans back. Her thigh remains warm and firm against mine. "Your pathologist is certain about these pork traces?" I nod. "Then he was killed, in effect, by bacon."

I hand her back her evidence bag. Our fingers linger together. "What connects our two, then, and them to these two?"

Nat takes a generous swallow of beer. "Mine's a lawyer, in London."

"What?"

"My girlfriend. Corporate lawyer, works away all week. But she and I talk about our work too."

"Ah." A complex moment of understanding passes between us. I tap her jacket lightly, where the list is back in her inside pocket. Her breast is soft and warm through her shirt and jacket. "We need to work out this link."

Nat nods, taking another swig of beer. She nudges my leg with hers. "What's the wifi like in your room?"

I shrug, and start drinking up. "It'll do."