"The traffic's terrible these days," Evan said. "It sometimes takes ages just to get out of Colwyn Bay."

"So what do you think, Evans?"

Evan was surprised at the question. "What do I think, sir? She certainly loves her dog, doesn't she? The only time we saw any emotion at all was when I brought that dog into the room."

"In the case of a tragedy, you cling to anything familiar, don't you? And dogs are supposed to be a wonderful comfort, aren't they, although I can't see it myself. Peeing and pooping all over the floor and shedding hair wherever they walk. Got a dog yourself?"

"No sir. It wouldn't be fair. My wife and I are out of the house all day. Besides, we're newly married."

"Wouldn't want half her attention going to a dog, eh?" Bragg chuckled.

"Are you married, sir?"

"I was. Nor ready to take that plunge again in a hurry. Let's go and see where Wingate and Pritchard have got to."

He set off ahead of Evan with determined strides.

They found the other two officers in the garden shed.

"I hope you haven't been putting your paws over stuff in here," Bragg said, as he stood in the doorway. "This might be important. A good place to hide out and watch what was going on in the house. There's a clear view from here of the front door."

"We touched a pair of gumboots," Wingate said. "We needed to match them up with a couple of footprints we found. They're lady's size, obviously Mrs. Rogers's."

"Any other prints that don't match these?"

"A couple, sir. Great big boot in some of the flower beds."

"That would probably be the gardener. When we interview him, we must remember to get a print of his boot sole."

Bragg stepped into the shed and sniffed. "Smells like someone's been using an engine of some kind in here. Hot oil smell."

"That's right, sir," Pritchard said. "The lawn mower has been used recently. It was still a little warm."

"Mrs. Rogers said she did a spot of gardening this morning, didn't she?" Evan said.

"So she did. Well, that explains that then. No luck with finding the weapon?"

"No sir. We searched the bushes pretty thoroughly. There's a garden pond. We fished about in it a little, but we didn't find anything. You might want to have it searched more thoroughly if you think that the perpetrator might have got rid of the weapon and not run off with it. If it had been me, I'd have taken it away with me."

"He probably did, but people don't always behave rationally when they've just killed somebody. Sometimes they panic and want to get rid of that weapon as quickly as possible. You'd be amazed where I've found weapons before now. Stashed in the most obvious of places, almost as if the killer wanted to be discovered."

They came back out into the fresh air.

"So what's next, sir?" Sergeant Wingate asked.

"We'll know more as soon as forensics get here," Bragg said, staring with annoyance in the direction of the road again. "And we'll need to do a detailed search of the house once forensics have taken fingerprints. We need to find out if that antique weapon is really missing or just moved somewhere else."

"And if it's been recently fired," Evan added.

Bragg gave him a withering look. "Obviously we'd like to know if it's been recently fired, Constable. That goes without saying."

"Oh, have you found the weapon, sir?" Constable Pritchard asked.

"Possibly. Rogers has an antique gun collection. One of them is missing."

"I see." Wingate nodded. "It would be good if we knew the type of weapon we were looking for. What sort of bullets do antique guns use?"

"They just used to melt lumps of lead and pour it into a mold, didn't they? I've no idea if any modern bullets would fit. Let's hope the ballistics bloke knows the answer to that one," Bragg said. "Right, let's get on with it. We're wasting precious time standing here chatting."

"I think we should interview the neighbors as soon as possible, while the whole thing is still fresh in their minds." Wingate stared at the tall Victorian house next door that could be seen above the high hedge.

Bragg looked around. "It's hardly likely the neighbors will have seen anything with all these bloody trees and bushes in the way. The houses are too far apart."

"But someone would have heard a shot, surely," Evan said. "And there always seems to be somebody who just happens to be looking out of a window and notices who comes and goes from neighboring houses."

"Thus speaks the expert detective," Bragg said. "How long have you been on the force, Evans? How many months is it?"

"Not many, sir." Evan laughed it off.

"But that's a valid observation," Wingate commented. "There usually is one nosy neighbor on every street. Even if they saw nothing this morning, they might be able to offer us some insight into the dynamics of the Rogers's household."

" 'Insight' and 'dynamics.' My, we are into big words this morning, aren't we, Wingate? Are you planning to ram your university education down our throats?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll choose my language more carefully in future."

Evan stifled a smile. As an insult, it could not have been better.

"Don't get me wrong," Bragg went on, as if nothing had happened. "I fully intend to interview the neighbors. And it will be worth asking for the public's help through the media too. Evans, this comes under Western Division, doesn't it? You'd be familiar with the local media. I'm leaving it to you to get it onto this evening's news and into tomorrow's paper. Can you do that?"

"Yes sir. I think I can manage it."

"Good lad."

Bragg really had no appreciation of sarcasm, Evan decided.

"Be careful how much you tell them. A suspicious death-don't call it a homicide until we're sure of our facts. You can tell them the street name and the approximate time of the incident. Anyone who was passing and noticed suspicious or unusual activity is requested to call the Bangor Police Station, got it?" He looked up as a white van turned into the drive and scrunched over the gravel. "Ah, finally forensics have got off their arses. It's important that I stick around while they're here, but I think I can send you off to interview the neighbors, can't I, Wingate?"

"Yes. I think that may be within the realm of my capabilities, sir," Wingate answered.

This time the sarcasm was not lost. "There's no need to be smart, Wingate. We're a brand-new team, and I'm the fall guy if anything goes wrong. I have to make sure my officers know what they are doing."

"I assure you that I am quite capable of interviewing the neighbors, sir, as I suspect are Pritchard and Evans."

"Yes, well, I'll need Pritchard with me while Evans is away. You can bugger off now, Evans, and you too, Wingate."

The two men walked down the driveway together, passing the forensic crew as they opened up the back of their van.

"Hello, Evans. Having fun, are we?" the young police photographer asked in Welsh. "He's a right bugger, so they say, that Bragg." He saw Evan's face and grinned. "And his Welsh isn't too hot either."

Evan turned to Wingate. "How is your Welsh?"

"Not a native speaker like you. My family farms in border country, and we were raised to speak English."

"That's too bad."

"In the current circumstances, I'd have to agree with you," Wingate said. "I'm Jeremy, by the way, and you are?"

"Evan."

"No, your first name."

"That's it. Evan Evans. Parents lacking in imagination, I'm afraid."

Jeremy Wingate grinned. "We'll get through this somehow, although I don't know what we've done to deserve this form of cruel and unusual punishment."

"He may not be so bad when we get to know him," Evan said.

"On the other hand, he may be a bloody sight worse." Wingate leaned closer as Evan opened the squad car door. "I'll keep you posted on what I find out from the neighbors. I have a distinct feeling this chappy isn't too bright. We may need to do his work for him."

Evan drove away, catching glimpses of the bright waters of the strait on one side of him and the Snowdon range, bright crisp outlines in the clear air, on the other. The local Bangor Police Station would have been nearer to look up media contacts, but Evan headed for Caernarfon instead. At least he knew his way around there.

Evan felt a pang of regret as he entered through the familiar swinging glass doors. Why did they have to choose him of all people for this assignment? What if this new setup was so successful that it became permanent? A bleak future stretched ahead of him, starting every day at the soulless redbrick-and-glass headquarters and ending with a long drive home. He was on his way down the hall, when a man came out of the duty office to his right and almost mowed him down. It took Evan a second to realize who it was.

"Sorry, Sarge. I didn't recognize you. What are you wearing? Is it dress down Friday or something?"

The beefy sergeant Bill Jones scowled. "It's the new bloody uniform. I've been selected as one of the guinea pigs, and if you make any cracks about it-"

Evan examined the black roll neck sweater and the black combat pants. "Well, you'd blend in well at a rock concert or a skinheads gathering," he said.

"I think it's bloody terrible," Sergeant Jones said, "and I can't stand the feel of this around my neck. Makes me itch all the time. And too hot when I'm in the office like today."

"You tell them what you think. If enough of us do, they won't go ahead with it."

"Some of the younger men like it, unfortunately," Sergeant Jones said. "They think it makes them look cool." He pulled a disgusted face. "So what are you doing here then, boyo?" he asked. "I heard you'd been called to higher things." He put his hands together as if in prayer and looked toward heaven.

"Give over, Bill," Evan said. "You don't think I wanted this assignment, do you?"

"Major Crimes Team? I'd say it was a step up the ladder for you. The local boys are livid because it means that all we'll get here will be the petty stuff-the nicked wallets and the drunken brawls-while you blokes get all the juicy crimes."

"Yes, but at what price?" Evan said. "Have you run into DI Bragg ever? He's a right son of a you-know-what."

Sergeant Jones grinned. "I expect it's good for you. You've had it too easy here." He reached across and thumped Evan on the shoulder with a meaty hand. "Don't let it get you down, boy. You're a good cop, and he probably knows that. He's just trying to establish a pecking order."

"Thanks, Bill," Evan said. "I came here because I've got to contact the local radio and TV stations about this morning's murder, and I know where to find the list of media contacts here."

"A murder, is it?"

Evan nodded. "A university professor in Bangor shot to death at the breakfast table."

"Likely as not it's one of his students, disgruntled about the marks he got on his exams. They tend to go to extremes these days, don't they? Too much pressure and some of them crack."

"Interesting thought, Bill. We'll look into that." Evan continued down the hall and into the room that housed a couple of computers. He had just logged on when Glynis Davies came in, looking fresh and elegant in a dark blue pant suit.

"I certainly didn't expect to see you," she said. "Has Bragg kicked you off his team already?"

"No, worse luck." Evan looked up at her with a smile. "Hey, maybe you're onto something there. If I'm clueless enough, maybe he'll ask to have me replaced."

"You might find yourself out of the force or back in uniform. Not worth the risk," Glynis said. "No, Evan, whatever you may think, this is a career opportunity for you. You have to make the most of it. So what are you doing here?"

"I have to contact the local media to ask for the public's help on this murder case. I know how to find everything here, although . . ." he looked up appealingly. "I know what a computer whiz you are. You wouldn't like to-"

"No, I bloody well wouldn't," Glynis said. Then she paused and smiled, "Or as it's been drummed into us during our sensitivity training: thank you for asking, but I respectfully decline."

Evan laughed. "Oh well, it was worth a try."

"I tell you what I will do for you," Glynis said. "I'm off to get some lunch at the Greek place across the street. Do you want me to bring back a sandwich for you?"

"Glynis, you're an angel. I'll love you forever."

"You better not let your new wife hear you saying that. She might not understand." Glynis tossed back her striking red hair and flashed him a smile as she headed for the door.