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Kim checked her phone for the third time.

‘Anything, boss?’ Stacey asked, catching her movement.

They’d all heard the radio chatter about a discovery in one of the Dudley fishing pools. The dive team had been summoned, and if the worst were to be confirmed, Keats’s name would be lighting up Kim’s screen any second now.

Three pairs of eyes watched.

She shook her head as their mood washed over her.

It had been a couple of months since their last major case, and although none of them wished for the appearance of a dead body, it was murder investigations that brought out the best in them, that pushed them to their limits.

Kim liked to think they gave one hundred per cent of themselves to every case that landed on their desks, but getting justice for someone whose life had been taken lit the fires in their bellies by an extra few degrees: late nights, early mornings and little other than working the case in between.

She also knew her team was waiting for her to raise a subject that none of them wanted to hear about. She supposed now was as good a time as any. This particular elephant had been sitting in the middle of the room long enough to get a parking ticket.

She moved from behind the spare desk and sat on the edge of it, signalling that she was about to address them all.

‘Okay, guys, you know we’ve got to talk about it.’

There were groans as they all exchanged glances.

‘Look, it’s a talent show, for charity. One of you has to take part.’

‘Us, guv – one of us,’ Bryant corrected her. As her steady, pragmatic partner in crime, he always saw fit to remind her of the details.

‘You really think I’ve got any talent that would translate well to a stage and a room full of people?’ she asked.

‘Good point,’ he conceded.

‘Come on, people, surely one of you can do something?’

Every department had been ‘invited’ to contribute a performance at a charity ball this coming Sunday night. She had been on the cusp of telling Woody they weren’t interested when he’d asked precisely who was going to fill their three-minute spot between the traffic team and the firearms unit, making it clear that every department was doing their bit for charity.

‘Surely one of you has a hidden talent that can fill three minutes,’ she repeated.

‘Just about but it ain’t suitable for stage,’ Bryant offered.

They all laughed except for Kim, who turned her attention to Penn. Surely the studious detective sergeant who never failed to amaze them with random facts about every subject on the planet had something.

‘A song? A poem?’

‘Ooh, yeah, I’ve got one,’ Penn said then cleared his throat.

They all waited expectantly.

‘The boy stood on the burning deck, his pocket full of crackers. A flame shot up his trouser leg and blew away his?—’

‘Jesus, Penn. Is that the best you’ve got?’ Kim asked as Stacey wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

‘I was gonna say pockets,’ he said, shrugging.

Kim ignored him and turned to the constable. ‘How about you, Stace? Give me your best shower song.’

Catching the vibe, Stacey broke into the first few words of a famous Whitney Houston song.

All eyes were on her as they sat in stunned silence.

Kim held up her hand to end the torture after a couple of lines.

‘Okay, it’s a fact. We’re well and truly fu?—’

Her ringing phone cut off her words.

‘It’s Keats. We’re up,’ she said before pressing the answer button.

‘Go ahead.’

‘Blimey, Stone, it’s like you were expecting my call.’

‘I was.’

‘Weird, but okay. I am formally requesting your presence at?—’

‘Hey, Keats, you sure this one’s dead?’ she interrupted.

She’d been waiting two months to ask him that question, following his premature pronouncement on their last case.

The silence that met her question told her that he hadn’t yet reached the point of looking back on the memory with fond recollection and humour.

‘Too soon?’

‘Yes,’ he answered tersely.

‘Okay, I’m on my way.’

‘To where?’

‘Fishing pools at Dudley. That’s why you’re calling, isn’t it?’

‘Sorry, not a clue what’s going on there. I’ve been tied up here at thirty-one Loudner Road, Stourbridge. Female victim, late forties.’

‘Okay, Keats, on our way,’ she said.

Sounded like a major case that warranted their attention. Just not the one she’d been expecting.

‘And for what it’s worth,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘my opinion is that you won’t have to look far for the culprit.’