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you, though, that only one set of driver’s fingerprints was found on your car when it was examined. Since you drove it to Marlingford yesterday morning, they must be yours. Unless you wear gloves for driving?”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “We’ll make a comparison, of course, with the prints you’ll be providing for us this morning, but I don’t think there can be any doubt, do you?”
    His mouth tightened. “The other person could have been wearing gloves.”
    “That’s true, Mr. Gower, if that other person exists.” Kate rose abruptly to her feet. “I’ll send the officer back so you can complete your statement. You’ll need to amend it now in the light of what you’ve told me about your relationship with Mrs. Latimer.”
    * * * *
    The interview with Gower had done nothing to improve Kate’s mood. Damn the man, why couldn’t he produce a shred of hard evidence to substantiate his story? Failing that, he’d have to remain the prime suspect. Except that there was no obvious motive. There was a possibility of his having colluded (for a financial advantage) with the victim’s husband and/or cousin, either one of whom might have been banking on a fortune coming to him as a result of her death. Or Gower could have acted alone for personal reasons. Perhaps he had been her lover after all, and they’d quarrelled. Kate angrily threw out these unwanted theories; then, reluctantly, the professional in her called them back for cool assessment.
    There was, of course, Gower’s involved story about Mrs. Larimer’s suspicions concerning the accountant, George Prescott. It might even be true, but where would that get her? Still, it was something to be checked out.
    Over a cup of coffee with her sergeant in the DHQ canteen (to which he added a sausage roll and a wedge of lemon cheesecake), Kate made it clear that she had no desire to talk—about the case or about anything else. She sat there silent and brooding; then, abruptly telling Boulter to fix an appointment for them to see Prescott soonest possible, she took herself off to the superintendent’s office.
    “Something new, Mrs. Maddox?” He waved Kate into a chair, his cheerless expression conveying plainly that he expected nothing from her.
    Kate filled him in on the latest developments. When she’d finished, there was a brief silence before he spoke.
    “That’s all you’ve got?”
    For a brief, rebellious moment Kate wondered if the bastard actually wanted her to fail, just to lend weight to the chauvinist doctrine that women have no place in the higher ranks of the police force. But she at once rejected the thought as unjust. Jolly Joliffe was a damn fine police officer with a first-class record. He wanted results, from wheresoever and whomsoever.
    “The leads we do have, sir, seem to point in different directions.”
    He scratched the side of his long nose thoughtfully. “You’ll need to watch Gower. That man’s no hick journalist. For God’s sake don’t let him catch you out in any procedural cock-ups.”
    “Thanks for the tip,” she said meekly.
    The superintendent leaned back and crossed his legs. “You’ll be off to see George Prescott now?”
    “Yes, that’s next on the agenda. Sergeant Boulter says that he’s never heard any whispers against Prescott. Is there anything you can tell me about him, sir?”
    “Hmm.” He mused. “I wouldn’t cast him as a villain. Widowed a few years ago, leads a quiet life, except ... I do happen to know he likes a flutter on the gee-gees. I saw him at Cheltenham on Gold Cup day, and he had the harrowed look of a man who’s lost a packet. But George Prescott is quite a pillar of the community in Chipping Bassett, so be careful how you handle him, my dear.”
    His dear! His bloody dear! “I’ll keep what you say well in mind, sir.”
    A wave of the hand indicated that the audience was at an end. “The ACC’s getting edgy about this case, Chief Inspector, so for God’s sake come up with something that I