Moss sat bleary-eyed at the kitchen table the next morning, eating her cereal. Jacob came in with his guitar and started to play a new song he’d made up. As he strummed at the guitar and started to sing, Moss shouted at him to cut it out. Jacob looked up at her with shock on his little face, and his eyes started to run. She never shouted.

‘Mummy’s got a headache this morning. Why don’t you go and put the guitar away, get dressed, and then I’ll make you some hot chocolate,’ said Celia.

‘I thought you wanted me to make up a song for you. That’s what you said yesterday, you said for me to make up a song and now I’ve made one up…’

‘I just need some peace and quiet this morning,’ snapped Moss. Celia took Jacob out of the kitchen and returned a few minutes later. ‘You don’t want to get him into the habit of having hot chocolate every morning,’ Moss added.

‘He’s only having it over Christmas…’ said Celia.

‘Yeah, well tomorrow is New Year’s Eve; he’s been having it every morning for the past ten days!’

‘Is this really about Jacob having hot chocolate? Or are you taking stuff out on him, and me, because things are bad at work?’

‘Things are not bad at work!’ said Moss, getting up and dumping her half-full bowl of cereal in the sink. ‘I just need time to think! You have no idea how complicated this case is… And there’s all this noise here.’

‘That’s called having a five-year-old. You made a big deal last night about him writing you a song, when what you were really doing was fobbing him off!’

Moss’s phone started to ring, and she pulled it out. It was Peterson.

‘We’ve tracked down Don Walpole. His wife was taken ill the other day, and he’s been staying at her bedside in hospital. University College London. The ANPR came back with details of his car crossing the congestion charge zone.’

‘Good work. Can you get me there?’

She hung up and left the kitchen. Seconds later, Celia heard the front door slam.

‘Charming. She becomes an acting DCI and I’m just the help… No goodbye or kiss on the cheek.’

‘I’ll kiss you on the cheek, Mummy,’ said Jacob, appearing at the door, still holding his little guitar.

---

Moss and Peterson arrived at UCL hospital just after nine. Jeanette Walpole had been admitted to the renal department, and they had to get directions from the front desk.

‘Renal is kidneys, yeah?’ said Peterson as they travelled up in the lift.

Moss nodded. ‘You’ve got everything ready. The paperwork? Spit kit?’

He nodded, holding up a thick folder. The ‘spit kit’ was shorthand for the Forensic DNA Evidence Collection Kit. ‘You okay?’ he asked, seeing her tense face.

‘Had a row with Celia this morning, and I shouted at Jacob for being noisy.’

‘I’m liking the noise, having a kid around…’ Peterson got out his phone and swiped through, holding up the screen to Moss. It was a video of Kyle playing on pots and pans. He was crouched on the kitchen floor with a sheet around his shoulders like a superhero cape, and he was banging on a line of upturned pots with a wooden spoon.

‘Very tuneful,’ Moss said, her eyes flicking to the digital display. The lift stopped and a porter wheeled in a long metal box, which both she and Peterson knew to contain a dead body. ‘How is it all going?’

‘Good, really good. They’re living with me on a temporary basis, until we work out what we’re going to do,’ he said.

‘I can see that you want them to stay.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did you talk to Erika?’

‘I figured she’s got a lot going on with her father-in-law, and I’d rather do it face-to-face, when she’s back.’

‘Don’t let it fester. Although, I think she’s the one who’ll be doing the festering.’

‘I’ve got another video of Kyle singing,’ said Peterson, swiping through his phone, his face beaming with pride.

‘James, later. We need to concentrate.’

The lift doors opened, and they inched past the long box destined for the morgue. They came to a set of double doors for the renal ward, but they were locked. Moss peered through the glass windows.

‘Can’t see anybody. And there’s no buzzer or bell.’ She hammered on the glass with the flat of her hand. ‘Hey… HEY!’

‘Jeez, Moss, take it easy,’ said Peterson.

‘We could be here for bloody hours.’

A nurse appeared at the top of the corridor and came towards them.

‘Or, we chill out and everything is going to be okay,’ he said.

She took deep breaths and nodded. ‘I’ll be happier if his DNA is a match. Don Walpole is our man. I can close this case and move back to a happier pay grade.’

The nurse opened the door and they showed her their warrant cards. She took them to a side room at the end of the corridor.

‘Mrs Walpole is in here,’ she said, opening the door. Jeanette was sitting up in bed, hooked up to a dialysis machine. Her skin was bright yellow, and her breathing laboured.

Don was sitting beside her, and he eyed Moss and Peterson.

‘Yes?’

‘Can we have a word, please? Best outside,’ said Moss. Don kissed the back of Jeanette’s hand and came outside. Moss and Peterson showed him their warrant cards.

‘We’ve been trying to get in contact with you, Mr Walpole,’ said Moss.

‘You can see, my wife is very sick.’

‘We need to take a DNA swab from you,’ said Peterson. Don looked him up and down.

‘Are you arresting me?’

‘No.’

‘Then I have to volunteer my DNA, and I’m not prepared to do that.’

‘Mr Walpole. Legally, we are able to take a DNA sample if we have grounds to suspect you have been involved in a crime. Now, we can find a place and do this here, or we can go to the station,’ said Moss.

Don looked between them.

‘I have here a document detailing your rights,’ said Peterson. ‘We can give you time to read it.’

Don stared through the strip of glass in the window at Jeanette, who now lay back on the bed with her eyes closed. ‘Okay,’ he said.

Peterson saw there was a small kitchen next to Jeanette’s room. They went inside and closed the door. Don sat at a small table. Peterson pulled on a pair of gloves and then took out a plastic tube with a long cotton wool swab.

‘I need a sample of your cells from the back of your throat,’ he said. Don opened his mouth and Peterson swabbed the back of his throat and the inside of his cheek. Then he placed it back in the tube and sealed it up.

‘Thank you,’ said Moss, handing Don a form to fill in. He scanned down the page and then signed.

‘She’s dying,’ he said. ‘Her body is giving up on her.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Moss. ‘We expect the DNA results in the next twenty-four hours.’

---

The sun was fighting to come out from behind the clouds when they left the hospital.

‘I’m going to head over to the lab in Vauxhall with the sample,’ said Peterson.

‘Good. I’m going over to speak to Mrs Fryatt. I need to solve the mystery around the earrings. I want to get a DNA sample from Charles Fryatt, too.’

‘You want me to swing by Hatton Garden? I have another kit.’

‘No. Get that in for testing. I need to ask her a few more questions, I want more than just a suspicious coincidence before we go after her son.’