Harry Makepeace had never been to Wright Watson’s house. In all the time that the two men had worked together, whether as bobbies on the beat or in the CID, the Detective Sergeant had never paid his Detective Chief Inspector a visit at home. ‘There’s always a first time for everything’, his mother used to say. It was her favourite phrase. Hilda Makepeace had used those words on her death bed.

Makepeace wondered how his commanding officer would be. The assault of the previous day had rendered the Detective Chief Inspector unconscious. Even when Watson had come round, he had talked little sense. Back at the station, the police doctor had pronounced him fit after a cursory examination but recommended that he take the rest of the day, and the following day, off work. The day after that b...

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