"Did somebody say coffee?" one of the techs poked his head out of the window. "You wouldn't like to bring us back a cup when you come, would you? I'd murder for a coffee right now."

"Bad choice of words, Tim, given the circumstances," the female tech said. "But I could certainly use one too. We've been here since seven."

"What do you think I am, the bloody maid?" Bragg snapped.

"No sweat to me, mate," Tim said. "If someone brings us back a coffee, then we keep on working. If not, we take a break to get some, and you'll have to wait for our findings."

"Bolshie lot," Bragg said, but he was smiling. "I suppose we can bring back coffees. Evans, I'll leave you in charge of that."

"I hope the responsibility doesn't go to his head," Pritchard muttered, getting a laugh.

"When's this poor bloke going to be moved then?" Bragg asked, pointing at the arm hanging over the windowsill.

"The morgue wagon is on its way now," the female technician said. "And we're almost done in here."

"Like to share what you've found?"

"Only the obvious. He was shot through the window, from about six feet away. The alleyway was dark, the kitchen was light. He'd have been an easy target. As for the killer coming into the building-there are unidentified fingerprints all over the place, but we should know more about them when we've fingerprinted the restaurant staff, which we're going to do next. It doesn't appear to be any kind of break-in. There's money in the till. The kitchen's spotless, as you can see. Nothing disturbed. So we have to conclude that the point was to shoot Alessi."

"Any other shootings in this area that you know of?" Bragg asked.

The two techs looked at each other and shook their heads. "Not that I can remember," Tim said. "To tell you the truth, we don't often get a chance to handle a murder scene, so it's rather exciting."

"Not for him." Bragg tapped the dangling arm. "Right. Milk and sugar for everyone? Take orders, Evans."

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting in the Happy Bean, at the more upscale end of the shopping precinct, between the Gap and Benetton. It was frequented mainly by trendy young people, yuppy mums with toddlers in designer pushchairs, and one elderly couple, looking decidedly uncomfortable with the loud music.

"It might be a good time see what we've got so far," Bragg said. "The widow might have a motive. She admitted he had hit her before now, but supposedly that was when he was drinking and he'd given it up."

"And she does have a good alibi," Evan added. "She's on medication. Strong sleeping pills that knock her out for the night."

"And she definitely took one last night?" Wingate asked.

"Oh yes. Mostyn said he couldn't get much out of her, and I'd say she was still a bit groggy when we first talked to her, wouldn't you, Evans?"

"She wasn't the sharpest," Evan said. "Of course, shock can do that to some people too."

"So how did she conveniently wake up to find him and call the cops if she was lying there doped on pills?" Wingate asked.

"She said she always has to visit the bathroom in the middle of the night. Even though she was half asleep, she noticed he hadn't come to bed and went looking for him."

"So why was she taking sleeping pills?"

"She hasn't been well lately. Something to do with nerves. We'll need to see her doctor about that. Make a note, Evans."

"And did she have any ideas about who might have killed him?" Pritchard asked, seeing Evan frown as he took out his notebook.

"None at all, Bragg replied. Laughed off the idea of any Mafia connections. Laughed at paying protection money. Said they'd both be grateful if the place burned down."

"We'll need to get background information on him-who he knew, what he did in his spare time," Wingate said.

"Mrs. Alessi claims they never had any spare time. He was working until midnight all week and then slept in his armchair watching the telly all Sunday."

"Doesn't sound like much of a life," Wingate muttered.

"What did you find out from the crowd outside, you two?" Bragg asked.

"We couldn't come up with anybody who had heard the shots," Wingate said. "The lads Pritchard spoke to had been at a disco they hold on Friday nights at the pub, and the music is always very loud."

"So if music was spilling out, and a train was going past, we've got a lot of noise competing with the shots," Bragg said.

"All the same it's odd that nobody heard them," Evan said.

"We haven't tried the houses behind yet. That's something we should tackle next. Wingate, why don't you do that? And Pritchard, I've got a special assignment for you. I want you to hang out in the pub this evening and see what you can find out about Alessi. Did he have friends among the regulars at the pub? We know he got into the occasional punchup. Anyone with a grudge? Any particular enemy? Only don't make it too obvious that you're a copper, got it?"

"Right," Pritchard said. "My kind of assignment at last. Spend all evening in a pub. I like it."

"And remember you're on duty. One pint if you must, to look authentic, but that's it."

"That will teach you," Evan joked. "Help you to learn moderation in all things."

"And I've got a job for you tomorrow, Evans," Bragg said. "I'm sending you to church."

Evan grinned at the other men's laughter. "Hey, I've been a good chapel-going man most of my life. Now you want me to switch to church, is it?"

"The local Catholic church," Bragg said. "I don't know what time they have their mass, but take a look and see if there are any other Italians there, and find out if Luigi was a regular attendee."

"Just one thing, sir," Evan said. "We're rushing around, trying to find out if Luigi had quarreled with anyone, but we're overlooking the main fact-he was shot with an identical bullet to the one that killed Martin Rogers. So we have to assume that the same gun fired both those bullets. And we have to assume that the same person was the killer of both men-don't we?"

"I suppose we do." Bragg nodded. "But we still need to keep digging into the lives of both men until we find what the link is, what they have in common."

"That's not going to be easy, is it?" Wingate said. "I mean, look at the contrast in the two houses, and the different sort of lives they led. Where could they possibly have met? Who could possibly have a score to settle with both of them?"

"Maybe both wives hired the same killer to dispose of their husbands," Evan suggested. He had meant it half jokingly, but he saw the others all look up from their cups of coffee.

"You're not trying to say that Mrs. Alessi and Mrs. Rogers planned to hire a hit man together when they were doing the church flowers or having their hair done at the same beauty parlor, are you?" Bragg demanded.

"No, I suppose not," Evan admitted. "I can't think of anything that they'd have in common."

"So you're suggesting coincidentally, then?" Bragg grinned, clearly enjoying baiting Evans. "Two unrelated killings in two days, or do you think he makes his rounds of North Wales once a year and does two for the price of one?"

"Besides, I'm no gun expert, but what we know of the weapon doesn't go along with a hired killer," Wingate said. "An old war souvenir brought back from Japan? The ballistics tech mentioned that those bullets cost a couple of pounds each. Why waste that kind of money? And a hired killer would have an efficient handgun, probably with a silencer."

"Nobody heard the gunshot either time," Pritchard pointed out. "Can a gun like that be equipped with a silencer?"

"It's a weapon, Pritchard. A gun is what you use to shoot grouse on the moors. Do get your terminology right." Bragg drained the last of his coffee. "And in answer to your question, we'll ask the ballistics bloke. Ready to go? We'll have that bolshie lot panting for their coffees."

Evan picked up the tray of coffees and followed the others to the door.

By the end of the afternoon they had interviewed the families who lived in the houses behind the alley. Two couples remembered being woken by something around midnight, but couldn't say whether it was a gunshot or not. One woman did look out of the back bedroom window but said nothing moved in the alleyway that she could see. And there was one old dear who told them it had to be terrorists. "They're everywhere, these days, so they tell us," she said. "I'm sure I saw a dark man in white robes last night. I see them all the time. They're everywhere, you know."

"Batty, and watches too much TV news," Bragg muttered, as they left her.

"I have to confess, I'm stumped." Bragg looked around the empty kitchen, now with the body removed and cleared of blood. "Who the hell would want to shoot a university professor and then an Italian pizzeria owner? Something tells me it has to be a gangland killing-efficient, opportunistic, through a window. I can see that the Italian might have crossed paths with a criminal element but not Professor Rogers. It's like nothing I've ever come across before. I certainly don't want to admit failure on our first case, but I'm not sure where we go from here."

Evan looked at him with new understanding. Beneath the brash exterior obviously lurked a fragile ego.

"In every case I've worked on so far," Evan said cautiously, "the key has been in finding the connection."

"Thank you, Sherlock Holmes," Bragg said dryly. "What the hell do you think we're trying to do?"

Evan's new-felt sympathy and understanding vanished as quickly as they had come. "I just meant that we have to keep on digging. Find out who Alessi was fighting with when he was arraigned for disturbing the peace. Talk to Professor Rogers's colleagues some more. I get the feeling they have more to tell us if we give them time and opportunity."

"I agree with Evans," Wingate said. "There were definitely undercurrents going on there. And there was that student we were told about-the one who felt cheated out of a first. Who knows, maybe he came back here to settle scores."

"With a pizza parlor too?"

"Maybe he was employed here and Luigi gave him a hard time, or even that he used to buy his pizzas here and was shortchanged." Wingate shrugged. "I don't know. It sounds outlandish, but when someone goes off the deep end, they become trigger happy, don't they?"

"Right. So tomorrow we visit the faculty members at home. We attempt to ascertain the whereabouts of that student Simon whatsit and see if he really is abroad. Pritchard can tell us what he picked up at the pub-and it better be nothing in skirts, Pritchard. And Evans can do some praying for us all when he goes to church."

"What about right now, sir?" Pritchard asked.

"Back to HQ to take a look at the records. See what's on Luigi's rap sheet and who he and his wife talked to on the phone. I don't think we can do anymore interviewing today, do you? People don't take kindly to having their Saturday evening disturbed. And I expect you blokes like the occasional Saturday evening at home as well."

With that they were dismissed.