‘Bryant, you could always try your luck going over thirty miles an hour,’ she groaned, feeling her right foot pushing down on the imaginary accelerator at her feet.

‘It’s ten to nine, guv, and kids run out of side streets,’ he said, patiently.

‘You did hear Vanessa, didn’t you, or were you too busy combing the mane of the pony?’

‘To be fair it was quite therapeutic but yes I did hear.’

‘So, you know Nat Mansell has not been at work since Monday and could be lying dead in her own home right now?’

‘Then there’s no need to rush, is there?’ he asked, smartly.

She fought the urge to reach over and grab the steering wheel. He was enjoying having control of the car a little too much for her liking. She had the feeling this case would be solved much quicker if Bryant would learn to put his foot down.

She remained silent as he drove through Gornal Wood which was located on the western boundary of the Dudley Metropolitan Borough and had been the epicentre of the 2002 earthquake that had been felt as far away as North Yorkshire.

‘Love that place,’ Bryant said, nodding towards the Crooked House pub where the left-hand side was approximately four feet lower than the right due to mining subsidence.

‘Aah, it’s this one,’ he said, coming to a sudden stop as he’d turned into Wilde Street.

The narrow road separated identical fifties semi-detached houses facing each other. Each home had a small drive and a patch of garden in front of the house.

Bryant pulled on to the empty drive. Kim noticed a four-course-high brick wall that separated the nurse’s small garden from the one next door.

Nat Mansell’s lawn was cut short with a one-foot border that appeared to have been recently dug over ready for plants. A small bucket holding a pair of gloves and some hand tools sat in the corner underneath the front window.

‘So, we know she lives alone, divorced seven years ago, with no kids and doesn’t drive,’ Kim said as they approached the porch door.

‘You know, this could be completely coincidental,’ Bryant said.

‘Jesus, you have been on holiday,’ Kim said, waiting for her colleague to wake up and smell the coffee. ‘Not sure how they do things at Brierley Hill but here we find clues and put them together until we find the bad person.’

Bryant ignored her and knocked on the door.

‘She hasn’t been to work since the day Cordell was murdered, she hasn’t called in sick, she was linked to the complaint against Mancini and her mother was murdered yesterday afternoon.’

‘Well, since you put it like that…’ he said, knocking again but harder.

She bent down to listen at the letterbox.

‘Nothing.’

Bryant stepped to the left as she stepped to the right.

‘I’ll see if there’s anything open around the…’

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ she said, grabbing a glove and hand shovel from the bucket.

She put on the glove, turned the spade and used the handle to smash the glass. She reached inside and turned the lock. If they continued to run this investigation on Bryant time their killer would have died of old age before they caught him.

‘We’re in,’ she said, stepping over the broken glass.

The box porch was tidy with a fern overflowing its pot in the corner. A pair of dirty gardening shoes sat on a rubber mat and a couple of coats and a scarf hung from a brass coat hook. On the box shelf in front of the window was an oversized teacup and saucer holding a collection of cactus plants.

Kim pushed open the door to the living room and stopped dead.

‘Oh shit, Bryant, come take a look at this.’