The Deadline

Book 0: The Cora Baxter Mysteries

by Jackie Kabler

Genres: Women's Fiction; Mystery; Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

Cora Baxter is facing the most important deadline of her career . . . The second book in the much-loved Cora Baxter Mysteries series, from the acclaimed broadcaster, USA Today bestseller and bestselling author of The Perfect Couple and Am I Guilty? When investigative journalist Cora Baxter is awoken in the middle of the night and called to the scene of a murder, she's devastated to discover the victim is someone she knows. And very quickly, things go from bad to worse when the investigation team - reluctantly led by Cora's boyfriend DCI Adam Bradberry - charge Cora's best friend and colleague, Samantha Tindall, with the murder. Convinced of her friend's innocence, Cora and her camera crew find themselves following a trail of clues that leads them all the way to New York. But with only weeks to go until the trial, time is of the essence. Can Cora track down the truth in time to secure Samantha's freedom? Or is it already too late? Readers LOVE Jackie Kabler's Cora Baxter mysteries: ' Grabs hold of you and wont let you go ' Amazon review ***** 'I could not put the book down and sat up one night to read the ending' Amazon review ***** ' My only problem with this book was that it had an ending ' Goodreads Review ***** 'I could have continued reading forever ' Goodreads Review ***** 'This book is just fabulous and worthy of ALL THE STARS from me!! I can't recommend the Cora Baxter series highly enough!' Goodreads Review ***** 'I completely adored Kabler's style and already can't wait to read more from Jackie' Goodreads Review *****

Release date: October 20, 2016

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 244

Sample

THE DEADLINE

A Cora Baxter Mystery

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Jackie Kabler

Cora Baxter is back – and this time, she's facing the most important deadline of her career...

When TV reporter Cora Baxter attends the scene of a murder in a London park, she's horrified to discover the victim is someone she knows – and devastated when one of her best friends is charged with the crime. Suddenly the fun-filled life of Cora and her eccentric camera crew takes a darker turn.

Cora is convinced that her friend is innocent, but with seemingly solid evidence, the police investigation team – reluctantly led by Cora's boyfriend DCI Adam Bradberry – believe the case is closed. With a trail of clues that leads all the way to New York, can Cora find out the truth before the trial begins – or is it already too late?

The Deadline is the second in the hugely popular Cora Baxter Mysteries series by acclaimed broadcaster Jackie Kabler.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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When I wrote the acknowledgements for the first novel in the Cora Baxter series, The Dead Dog Day, I thanked everyone who’d inspired characters in the book. Consider yourselves all thanked again. Virtually every silly, embarrassing thing that happens to Cora and her friends in my books is drawn from real life and has happened to me or, in some cases, to friends of mine. Thank you for the inspiration, and the giggles. You know who you are.

Since I first – very, very nervously – entered the world of novel writing, I have had the most incredible support from so many wonderful, passionate, talented book bloggers and reviewers. I started to write a full list, but it became ridiculously long and I was also scared of leaving one of you out! But I do want to name just a few: Ana Tomova, who gives me so much time, advice and encouragement; Kim Nash, who has always been so supportive and who organised my first, fabulous blog tour; and Laura Holdsworth, Kirsty Sibley and Joseph Calleja, all of whom to my great astonishment and utter delight mentioned The Dead Dog Day in their lists of top reads of 2015. And to all of you who have hosted me on your blogs, been part of my blog tour or reviewed my book, thank you so much. Your kindness and support means more than you will ever know.

Thank you also to all of my followers on Twitter and Facebook – your support is so important to me. A huge thank you too to my scientist friend and former colleague Karen Dillamore who checked my DNA facts in this book. And it’s been a while since I covered a murder as a TV reporter, so many thanks also to former police DCI Stuart Gibbon for his advice on current police and court procedures.

And, as always, a massive thank you to my agent Robin Wade and to everyone at Accent Press, in particular my fabulous editor Greg, brilliant Bethan in marketing and Queen Hazel who steers the ship. You rock.

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Monday 6th May

‘You stuck your what to your WHAT?’

Incredulity in her voice, senior producer Samantha Tindall stared at Cora Baxter, who had her jacket on, ready to leave the newsroom after her early morning shift in the studio.

‘Errr ... my finger. To my handbag.’ Cora looked sheepish.

Sam plonked herself down in her chair and ran her fingers through her wavy, caramel-coloured bob, a frown creasing her pretty face.

‘OK, you’re going to have to explain further. You left the studio between the seven thirty and eight o’clock bulletins and, instead of grabbing a cup of tea and a make-up touch-up like you normally do, you ... you glued your finger to your own handbag?’

Cora sat down too. ‘Yes, Sam, I did. Accidentally, obviously. That’s why I had to keep my right hand out of shot during the eight o’clock news. Because it had a handbag dangling from it. It was quite uncomfortable, as you can imagine ...’

‘Yes, I bloody well can imagine!’ Sam exploded, her exasperation making her sound even more Scottish than usual. ‘But why? How? What on earth were you doing?’

She sounded infuriated, but a grin was creeping across her face. There were sniggers coming from nearby desks now too, as researchers and producers within earshot took a break from working on tomorrow’s Morning Live show to enjoy the bizarre conversation between their senior producer and newsreader.

Cora grinned too, relieved that Sam was seeing the funny side – that wasn’t always the case when it came to Cora’s occasional on-air blunders. At work, the breakfast show producer was technically above her in the pecking order, but outside work they were the closest of friends, and it seemed that Sam was in a lenient mood today.

‘I was trying to repair my earring. A stone fell out of it when I was putting it on this morning, and I had some of that super-strong glue in my drawer. It fixed the earring brilliantly, but I must have got a bit on my hand without noticing because when I picked up my bag, well ...’

She rubbed ruefully at a red mark on her finger.

‘Got it off then, I see.’ Sam rolled her eyes.

‘Yeah. Sherry in make-up had some solvent stuff. All is well. Sorry.’

‘You’re such a numpty. Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone at home would have noticed. Don’t think Betsy did either, so I reckon you’re safe.’

Cora’s pale green eyes followed Sam’s towards the glass-walled corner office at the end of the long newsroom, but the door was closed and the blinds down.

‘Phew.’ Cora smiled. She got on well with Betsy, their relatively new boss, but she was even more passionate than Sam was about the show being perfect – a newsreader going on air with a bag glued to her hand might not go down terribly well.

‘Anyway, why haven’t you gone home yet? Isn’t your shift over?’

‘Wanted to see your latest delivery.’ Cora leaned across the desk. ‘You’ve got a secret admirer, you’ve got a secret admirer!’ she chanted, then ducked as Sam threw a bread roll at her.

‘How old are you, five?’

But Sam was smiling broadly too. She buried her nose in the exquisite bouquet of pink peonies and white roses that had been delivered earlier to the Morning Live news desk, then looked again at the typewritten card nestling amongst the fragrant blooms.

‘Because you’re wonderful.’

‘Well, whoever it is, they need a psych test,’ she said wryly, then sneezed violently. She pushed the posy aside, fumbled in her pocket for a tissue and blew her nose loudly.

‘Hay fever or the newsroom cold?’ asked Cora.

Sam shrugged. ‘Bit of both probably. Whoever bought these obviously doesn’t know that flowers and me don’t really go together. Although they are very pretty.’

‘Well, if your lovely boyfriend is still insisting it’s not him, I think it’s rather fabulous to have a mystery man sending you things. Chocolates last week and now flowers. I wouldn’t be complaining! And it’ll keep Marcus on his toes.’

‘True. Although as I told you, I honestly think he’s about to propose anyway, keeps hinting ...’

Sam was interrupted by her phone trilling. She grabbed it.

‘Sam Tindall. Oh, Greg, finally!’

She gave the thumbs up sign to Cora, who nodded in acknowledgement and stood up. Sam had been trying to get hold of Europe correspondent Greg Winters for the past hour to assign him to a complicated German political story and, knowing how many questions he usually asked, Cora knew it was unlikely to be a brief chat.

She yawned and started gathering her things together, then picked up the bread roll Sam had tossed at her and lobbed it back across the desk, hitting her friend squarely in the chest. The producer didn’t even pause her conversation, simply grimacing and shaking her spare fist at Cora, who laughed and turned away. Then she jumped as Betsy Allan’s voice carried across the newsroom.

‘If only the public could see the antics of our esteemed newsreader, Miss Baxter. A food fight? With our top producer? What would our viewers think?’

Cora blushed, but Betsy was beaming. Relieved, Cora smiled back, and crossed the room to where the programme editor had just emerged from her office, hoping fervently that there’d be no questions about glue or handbags when she got there. Tall and elegant, with an impossibly bouncy, curly, blonde bob, Betsy had been the TV breakfast show’s editor for just over nine months, but had been an instant hit with the staff, partly on her own merits and partly because of the stark contrast between her and the show’s previous editor, Jeanette Kendrick. The deeply unpopular Jeanette had been murdered about a year and a half ago, and it had taken Morning Live’s executive team a while to replace her. In the interim, Sam had stood in as temporary editor, and was now very much Betsy’s right-hand woman. The new editor had even introduced serial dater Sam to Marcus, a move which had proved so successful that Sam had finally taken herself off the numerous dating websites she’d frequented for years. Now, just eight months after they’d first met, the couple were in loved-up bliss with Sam convinced a proposal was imminent.

‘Sorry, Betsy – just teasing her about another delivery from her mysterious suitor. Flowers today!’

Betsy looked across at the news desk, where Sam was still engrossed in her phone call, and raised her eyebrows.

‘Popular girl, isn’t she! Wonder who’s sending them? Poor Marcus is absolutely besotted, you know. I’ve known him for years, but I’ve never seen him like this before. It’s very sweet.’

Cora nodded. ‘She’s crazy about him too. I’m delighted for them, I really am.’

‘Everything all right with you? Still dating that hunky policeman?’

Cora nodded again, unable to suppress a big grin. ‘Yep. And now that I’m in London three days a week on a regular basis, I’m staying at his place instead of in hotels like I used to. It’s nice.’

‘I bet it is. See you tomorrow Cora, have a nice afternoon – enjoy what’s left of the Bank Holiday.’

‘You too, Betsy.’

Cora shifted her heavy leather bag onto her shoulder and headed for the door, then stopped as she spotted the fiery red Irish curls of Wendy Heggerty at a desk in the far corner of the room. Along with Sam, the graphics designer was one of her closest friends at work, and the three of them were long overdue a proper night out.

‘Oi, Wend!’

Wendy looked up and waved. ‘Come over!’

Cora weaved her way between the tightly crammed desks where producers, runners and forward planners were industriously putting together the rest of the week’s shows, smirked as she overheard a snippet of conversation about “the new trend for vagina facials” and reached the corner where Wendy was talking through some graphics ideas with the programme’s new on-air medical expert, Dr Miranda Evans.

‘Women do get nervous about how the menopause will affect them, and I don’t want to frighten them, just educate them,’ Miranda was saying thoughtfully. ‘So I think that’s perfect. Thanks, Wendy.’

‘That’s what I’m here for,’ said Wendy, then turned to Cora. ‘Hey, you!’

‘Hi. Hi, Miranda!’

‘Nice to see you, Cora. Got to love working a Bank Holiday, eh! Look – I have another meeting now, but let’s have a coffee sometime. Soon?’

‘No such thing as a Bank Holiday in breakfast telly land, sadly! But as for that coffee – definitely.’

Cora smiled as the TV doctor marched off. ‘She’s nice, isn’t she?’ Cora said, perching on the edge of the doctor’s vacated chair.

Wendy nodded. ‘She is. I’m still getting to know her, but I like her, and Sam’s really pally with her. You OK?’

‘Very. But we need a girlie night out, it’s been ages. Will you and Sam put some dates together, see if we can organise something in the next couple of weeks? Maybe we should invite Miranda too, if Sam likes her so much?’

‘Sounds like a plan. You finished for the day, part-timer?’

Cora punched her friend gently on the arm and stood up again.

‘Cheek. It’s nearly two o’clock and I’ve been in since before 4 a.m. And Alice is coming round at four, so I need to run. See you tomorrow, dwarfy.’

‘See you, lanky. And give Alice my love. Get her to come out with us too, give her a break from the baby?’

‘Good idea. I’ll ask her. See ya!’

She headed for the door again and entered the lift lobby, ready to play her usual game of lift lottery, which involved pressing the central call button and then quickly moving to stand in front of one of the three big elevators, crossing her fingers that she’d chosen the right one. It was a silly game she played with herself, but it kept her amused, and now she whooped quietly as the green light came on above the double doors of the left-hand lift, the one she’d chosen to position herself next to today. Her glee was short-lived however, as the doors slid open and she recoiled in fright.

‘What the ...?’

Instead of a person, emerging from the shiny, mirrored interior of the lift was an enormous polar bear, black eyes gleaming, front paws with long claws held aloft as if about to pounce.

‘Only me, don’t panic.’

The weathered face of Bob, one of the front-of-house security guards, suddenly appeared under the bear’s arm-pit.

‘Bob! You nearly gave me a heart attack! What on earth is that?’

Bob shoved the giant cuddly toy out of the lift and leaned on it, breathing heavily.

‘It’s bloody heavy, that’s what it is. Is it your friend Sam’s birthday or something? Second delivery of the day for her, this is.’

Cora stared at the bear, now noticing that a card decorated with small red glittery hearts hung from a pink ribbon around its neck.

‘No, it’s not her birthday,’ she said slowly, reaching out to steady the swinging card and read the single line of text typed on it.

‘For somebody bear-y special.’

‘Well, someone’s very fond of the lass then. Killing my back, this is,’ Bob said grumpily, and he grabbed the bear under the armpits again and staggered off towards the newsroom, muttering under his breath about lazy delivery boys who dumped things in reception for him to deal with, even though he was nearly sixty-three and suffering from lumbago.

Cora watched him go, not sure whether to be amused or a little concerned. Not about Bob – he was probably in better health than half of the cigarette-smoking, junk-food-eating, hard-drinking-staff in the newsroom. But all the gifts Sam was getting – that was a bit weird. Flowers and a huge and clearly very expensive cuddly toy, on the same day?

Oh well, I’m sure whoever it is will reveal themselves, eventually, she thought, and pressed the lift button again, wishing she had time to hang around to see Sam’s face when the latest present appeared at her desk. Anyone who was close to Sam knew she hated soft toys – what on earth would she do with that one?

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Alice Lomas was laughing so hard that a tiny gobbet of spit had just exploded from her pink, glossy lips and landed on her five-month-old baby’s nose.

‘Oh Claudia, darling, I’m sorry! What a terrible mummy I am,’ she cooed, leaning down to the child’s pink designer floor recliner and wiping the offending blob away with the sleeve of her white silk shirt. Claudia gazed up at her mother with enormous, serious, cornflower blue eyes and then smiled a huge, toothless smile. Cora, who was refilling their mugs with Earl Grey, shook her head in amazement.

‘Honestly, Alice, I have never known the mother of such a young baby to look so glamorous. You’re going to absolutely ruin that shirt, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Standards, Cora, standards. And I’d be less likely to ruin it if you didn’t keep telling me such ridiculous stories! I mean – a giant polar bear? For Sam? She will hate it!’

Alice snorted again, and Claudia, who was now chewing contentedly on a plastic monkey, looked up at her mother and then at Cora with a resigned expression.

‘Even your daughter despairs of you,’ Cora said, but there was affection in her voice. She still found it surprising that she and Alice were such good friends – once sworn enemies, their relationship had taken a dramatic turn after Jeanette was murdered. The trauma they had shared during the investigation had brought Cora and Alice together most unexpectedly, and now they even shared a job. Alice, once Morning Live’s main newsreader, and now a single mum, was doing just two days a week for now so she could concentrate on motherhood, with Cora covering the remaining three. She loved being in the studio Monday to Wednesday, but also adored the other two days of her working week, which she spent on the road as a roving reporter with her beloved camera crew. She and the three boys had been through a lot together over the years, but no matter how tough things were, they had never stopped laughing, and she knew the four of them would be friends for life. I’m so lucky, thought Cora, as she nibbled on a shortbread biscuit, watching with amusement as Alice dabbed dribble from her baby’s chin, this time with an immaculate white muslin cloth embroidered with a large, silver letter C. Claudia’s father was a taboo subject, but fortunately the little girl didn’t resemble him at all – she was a perfect miniature of her beautiful mother.

‘Any idea who Sam’s mystery man might be? Bet Marcus isn’t very happy about it,’ Alice said, leaning back in her chair and tossing her perfectly styled, long blonde hair back over her shoulders.

‘I bet.’ Cora touched her own straight, brown shoulder-length bob self-consciously. She never felt as well-groomed as Alice. How on earth did the girl manage it? ‘He’s so in love with Sam. You know she’s convinced he’s about to pop the question?’

Alice nodded, her vivid blue eyes bright. ‘Yes, she said when we caught up last week. So – mystery man? Any ideas?’

Cora shrugged and took another sip of tea.

‘Maybe. Remember that guy David, the one she had just started seeing a few weeks before she met Marcus?’

‘Vaguely. Worked in IT?’

‘That’s the one. Well, he was very, very keen on her, a bit over-keen really, considering they’d only had a few dates. She finished with him as soon as Betsy fixed her and Marcus up, and apparently he was quite upset. Rang and texted her repeatedly for a couple of weeks, telling her he was still available if it didn’t work out with Marcus. He stopped pretty quickly when she made it clear she wasn’t interested, but when I was chatting with her about the mystery gift-sender, he was the only possible she could think of.’

Alice frowned. ‘Suppose it could be. Bit odd to start sending her anonymous gifts months later, though. What would be the point?’

‘Dunno. Yes, definitely very peculiar. But hopefully if Marcus does propose, and they announce it publicly, whoever it is will get the message and stop sending her stuff.’

She grinned suddenly. ‘Ooh, Alice, I wonder when he might do it? I haven’t been to a wedding in ages, wouldn’t it be exciting!’

Alice bounced up and down on her chair. ‘Soooo exciting! Hope he hurries up. I could get Claudia the most divine Baby Dior dress, saw it online last night, pale pink jacquard with the cutest butterfly print – ooh, Cora, do you think Sam might ask Claudia to be a bridesmaid?’

‘She’s five months old! What use would she be as a bridesmaid, you nutter?’

They both laughed, and Claudia, who’d been watching them both closely, suddenly joined in, her deliciously infectious little baby giggles making Cora and Alice hoot even louder. It was with some surprise, a minute later, that Cora realised that her boyfriend Adam had materialised beside them, watching their mild hysteria with an amused expression in his deep green eyes.

‘Adam! I didn’t hear you come in! You’re early.’

‘Finally brought charges in that serious assault case, so we wrapped up early, seeing as it’s a Bank Holiday. Thought we could celebrate.’ He smiled and pulled a bottle of champagne out of the supermarket carrier bag he was holding.

‘Definitely! Better pop it in the fridge for a bit though.’

‘Will do.’ Adam bent down and kissed Cora’s lips gently, then leaned over to peck Alice on the cheek.

‘Hello, Alice. Looking gorgeous as always.’

Alice smiled demurely. ‘Why thank you, officer. And on that note, I shall depart. Madam will need feeding soon. Speak to you later in the week, Cora. Thanks for the tea, and the giggles!’

Cora saw her friend and her baby to the door and waved them off, then returned to the kitchen where Adam had turned on Classic FM and was already chopping vegetables for tonight’s stir fry. He winked at her, and she grinned happily back, admiring his skill with the knife. Thank goodness she’d found a man who could cook, she thought for the hundredth time. Cora detested cooking, and was truly dreadful at it when she occasionally attempted anything more complicated than toast, a fact that Adam had quickly learned, but didn’t really mind. He found cooking relaxing, an escape from the stresses of his job, and was more than happy to take control of the kitchen. Looking forward to the evening ahead, short though it would have to be due to her 3 a.m. start, Cora stifled a yawn and perched on one of the four swivel stools at the breakfast bar, lazily flicking through her emails on her BlackBerry, enjoying the companionable silence.

She’d met Detective Chief Inspector Adam Bradberry when he was investigating Jeanette’s murder and Cora had been assigned to cover the story for the breakfast show. Their relationship was now almost a year old and blossoming, with Cora now spending Mondays to Wednesdays with Adam in his Shepherd’s Bush home while she worked her breakfast news shifts, before returning to her own flat in Gloucestershire for the rest of her working week on the road. Their weekends off were divided between their two places, and Cora couldn’t remember a time when she’d been happier. All her friends had said it – Adam was good for her. Always a bit of a party girl, she had calmed down a lot in the past year. Although she still enjoyed a drink, she was now equally happy to stay in with Adam on a Saturday night, nursing a mug of tea and snuggling up in front of the television. She’d even taken up running, finding it cleared her head after a long stressful day at work – stress that she’d formerly handled by collapsing on the sofa with a large Sauvignon Blanc.

Yes, Adam Bradberry was very good for her indeed, she thought now, as she slipped off her stool and moved towards him, wrapping her arms around his broad chest from behind and rubbing her nose on his neck, enjoying his musky scent. Adam paused halfway through chopping a red onion, turned and kissed her forehead.

‘Can I help you, Miss Baxter?’ he asked softly.

Cora snuggled her face into his neck, her voice muffled.

‘I was just wondering – after the yummy meal, and the champagne ... do you fancy celebrating your latest crime fighting success story with an early night, perchance?’

‘Perchance,’ said Adam, ‘that sounds like a very excellent idea.’

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Several hours later, in her flat on a leafy Chiswick street, Sam Tindall was feeling far from contented. The giant polar bear, which she’d grumpily crammed into her car and driven home, was standing in a corner of the living room, its little black eyes glinting in the light from the stainless steel chandelier overhead. She’d been pretty horrified when it had arrived at her desk, but Betsy had refused to let her leave it in the newsroom, and Bob had erupted when she’d suggested she might put the creature in the skip at the side of the building.

‘Samantha Tindall, that thing’s worth hundreds – I saw similar ones in Harrods at Christmas when I took the grandchildren shopping. Give it to charity if you don’t want it. The kids’ hospital or something. It’s not going in my skip!’

Feeling a little shamefaced, Sam had spent several minutes forcing the enormous toy into the rear of her red Ford Fiesta, and had driven home with one of its paws protruding annoyingly over the back of the passenger seat. Punching said paw every time she stopped at traffic lights meant a little of her exasperation had eased by the time she got to Chiswick, but now, with the usually calm and gentle Marcus standing there glaring at the giant bear, she was feeling increasingly stressed.

‘Sam, you must have some idea who’s sending you all this stuff. He’s spending a fortune on you. Nobody does that for a perfect stranger.’

He ran his fingers impatiently through his cropped dark hair, brown eyes narrowed in rare annoyance.

‘Marcus, why would I lie to you? I love you. You know that. There is nobody else, I wish it would stop too, it’s getting ridiculous now. I don’t even like soft toys.’

Marcus shook his head. ‘I love you too, Sam. I’m crazy about you. But you need to get to the bottom of this. If we’re going to make this, well, more permanent ...’

He paused for a moment, and Sam’s spirits lifted.

‘Then I need to be sure there’s no one else, no unfinished business. You understand, don’t you?’

‘Of course. But I don’t know what I can do, I honestly have no idea who’s sending it all. You need to trust me, Marcus. Or this is never going to work.’

They stared at each other for a moment, then Marcus turned around abruptly and reached for the jacket he’d slung onto the sofa when he’d arrived fifteen minutes earlier.

‘I’m going for a quick walk. Need to clear my head. Can’t think properly with that stupid thing looking at me.’ He looked at Sam and managed a small smile.

She smiled back, but as the door closed behind him she felt a flash of irritation. She loved the man desperately, but he really was being unfair about this. She genuinely had no idea who was sending the gifts, and she didn’t really see why he was making such a big deal about it. It wasn’t her fault some saddo had become a bit obsessed with her, and if it didn’t bother her, why did it bother him so much?

Cross now, she stomped around the small apartment for a while, tidying away newspapers, opening her post and crossing the room every now and again to kick the polar bear hard. When it was lying on its back on the carpet, paws pathetically clawing the air, she looked at the wall clock and decided she could wait no longer. She picked up her mobile and dialled Marcus’s number. Straight to voicemail. Damn it. Was he ignoring her, screening his calls? Sam paused in her pacing, unsure what to do. It was after ten o’clock and he’d been gone for nearly an hour. He was probably either in the park down the road or walking along the river, she reasoned, two of their favourite local spots for a wander. She’d go out, find him, and have it out with him once and for all. This silly argument needed to be settled, and settled tonight. Pulling on one of the several old black hooded fleeces that always hung on the coat stand by the door, Sam grabbed her keys and headed out into the night.

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Tuesday 7th May

An insistent ringing sound jolted Cora out of a deep sleep. Groaning, she reached out and bashed the big shut-off button on the top of her alarm clock, but the ringing continued unabated.

BRRRING. BRRRING.

She rolled over and nudged Adam in the back.

‘Adam! Your phone,’ she hissed.

Adam grunted and, eyes still closed, groped around on his bedside table until he located his mobile.

‘DCI Bradberry.’ His voice was thick with sleep. Cora glanced at the clock. Just before 2 a.m. Whatever this call was about, it was unlikely to be good news. Wide awake now, she listened to Adam’s end of the conversation, which consisted largely of ‘When?’, ‘Where?’ and then ‘On my way.’

He put the phone down and rolled across the bed towards her. ‘Sorry, darling. Body’s been found in a park. Got to get straight over there.’

Cora made her decision quickly.

‘I’ll come with you. My alarm will be going off soon anyway and I might as well be the first reporter on the scene – it’ll be a good top story for the six o’clock news. I’ll call the desk, get the overnight crew to meet me there, then he can drop me back at the studio. OK with you?’

‘Fine.’ Adam was already up and pulling on his clothes. ‘You’ve got five minutes.’

Cora leapt out of bed, threw on a light cashmere jumper and jeans and ran to the bathroom to wash her face. Everything else could wait until she got to work, she thought, and she was already at the front door, jacket and bag in hand, when Adam appeared, jangling his car keys.

As they sped through the dark, quiet streets, Cora rang the news desk and gave the night editor the location and few details she had gleaned from Adam – a body, clearly the victim of a violent attack, found in a wooded area of a small park, and reported by a homeless man who often sought shelter there but who tonight had found his sleeping area already occupied. Reassured that the overnight cameraman, Ted, was on his way, Cora sat back and enjoyed the ride, blue lights flashin. . .