Joyce knocked on her governor's door and walked in. In her hand, she held Millicent, the forensic scientist who completed the autopsy on Cristobel Anderson.

Julian lifted his head. "I hope this is important. I have a meeting with the Chief constable and do not want to be late.

Joyce pulled a chair before his desk and seated herself. "I'd like you to read this now."

"Can this wait?"

"No, sir."

He started to speed-read the document as a hint of a smile spread across his face. "This is good news. The force has wanted Peter Mitchell behind bars for years, but somehow, he kept his hands clean."

"The lid is still on the tin. The papers know a woman's body was found amongst the debris on a local fly tip but nothing else. The forensic scientist who worked into the night completed the DNA check before going to meet my husband. Christabel took special care of her fingernails. Mitchell's DNA was discovered under the nails of her right hand. Two days ago, I noticed blood on Mitchell's shirt. What I don't want is his smart-arse lawyer getting him off a murder charge because I failed to dot the I's and cross the T's. You have two options: help me or do it yourself."

"It's your arrest, not mine. I'll be with the chief constable when you take him down. I suggest you cover every building club and knocking shop he owns simultaneously. You'd be surprised what turns up when the shit hits the fan."

Joyce saw the trap as she understood the task ahead of her. Screw this up, and the road back to Inspector and problem domestics would be a short one.

With a calm smile, she said in a firm voice, "Not a problem, sir."

Watching Joyce depart, she appeared not to have a care in the world. It disturbed him.

Back in her office, she telephoned Ian Spence's vicarage.

"Ian Spence speaking. Can I help you?"

"Joyce parsons vicar. Is my husband around?"

"Hang on. I'll go and get him."

"What's the problem?"

"Rupert, I need some help. I have DNA evidence to put Pete Mitchell away for a long time. Julian wants me to organise armed raids on every premise belonging to him. He knows I'm not ready."

"Yes, you are, but you need a guiding hand. Go and find Inspector John Harper. He's an ex-Royal Marine and ensures you don't fall into any holes. I know him but don't if you know what I mean."

"Take your time, don't overthink it. Do whatever John advises, and you won't go wrong?"

"Thanks."

On the stroke of noon, Armed Officers from the Serious Crime Squad and other stations carried out raids on every one of Pete Mitchell's known addresses. With each group, the BBC and Independent broadcasters followed the procedures.

Armed police with their weapons and protective gear hit the news headlines.

Stood in front of a house, Kathy Chambers, a well-known TV newsreader, asked Chief Inspector Parsons a few questions.

Joyce, with John Harper next to her. She answered the reporter. "I'm not prepared to provide a statement at this time. I can say that this operation covered numerous properties and was necessary. Although armed police were present, not one shot was fired. Thank you.

After thanking her team, Joyce returned to her office to complete the paperwork.

**

Chief Constable Roberts lifted his head and churched his fingers when a knock sounded on the door. He turned to Chief Superintendent Julian Archer. "Excuse me, Julian, when my secretary interrupts a meeting, I know it's important." He rose from his office chair and strolled to the door. "Are you sure, Lynn? Thank you.

With the door closed, he grabbed the television remote and switched to the BBC News Channel.

A blonde-haired reporter he knew from memory was busy describing an operation led by Chief Inspector Joyce Parsons and said it was a sensitive issue.

"You never mentioned this, Julian. What's it all about?"

"The body of a woman was discovered in a fly tip. I'm told it's Peter Mitchell's ex-girlfriend. You know him. To date, we have not been able to charge him with illegal parking, but my chief Inspector believes he was the murderer. I did advise her to be careful."

Again, the reporter made the point that no shots were fired.

"You could have been in line for a commendation undertaking such an operation. You did, however, leave it to Joyce Parsons, a first-class officer in every way. If you're not careful, she'll be after your job next."

"She has a lot to learn," said Julian.

"Of course, I insisted she was promoted to DCI."

"Not a decision I would have made, sir, but then you are a friend of her husband's ex, Chief Superintendent Parsons, who still works for you at my police station."

"What are you implying. Joyce is one of the best DCIs in the county."

Julian lounged in the leather chair. "I'll be honest with you, sir. I do not have the same confidence as you. I would transfer her to a station where they prefer female officers, but I can't."

"Thank you for being frank. It's time to end this conversation. We both have work to do. You can tell DCI Parsons that I will recommend her for an award. Job well done and all that."

Julian stood, lifted his cap and held out his right hand.

The Chief Constable appeared to ignore it as he seated himself.

"I'll pass on your message to Parsons, sir."

There was no reply, and he left the room, cursing himself for being so stupid. He had believed she would mess up, but now that dammed woman was being recommended.

***

Rupert and Maggie sat on a pew at the rear of the church as the vicar, Ian Spence, said a few words of comfort to Doreen Sinclair and a few friends. He briefly explains, without going into detail, why Paul Sinclair's coffin was exhumed.

In the centre of the knave is a brand new coffin, simple in style and modest in design, with shiny brass handles resting on two trestles.

Hymns were sung until the service was over. Everyone stood as pallbearers lifted it and carried it out into the graveyard.

The burial plot appeared pristine, with fake grass covering the bare soil. A prayer was said, and the coffin lowered into the earth.

Rupert smiled when he saw Ian peer into the grave before nodding to the bearers. He'll be doing that for the rest of his life.

With the second interment complete, Ian invited those present into the vicarage for refreshments.

Rupert sipped his coffee and said to Ian at a convenient moment. "One down, five to go."

Rupert was quiet for a couple of seconds. "Enjoy the moment vicar. This is the lull before the storm. When someone leaks this tale of six bodies dumped in a graveyard, the world will arrive in this sleepy hollow."

My thoughts exactly, but who will inform the media?"

Someone who wants a few extra pounds. A fistful of money, when you have none, solves many problems. With little effort, I can name one husband who would sell his story to the highest bidder.