40
The rest of the team had finally shuffled off home one-by-one, and Culverhouse eventually found himself doing the same.
When he got back to his place he glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Ten to midnight. Then he looked over at the drinks cabinet and the decanter of whisky, glowing golden in the half light. No. Not tonight, he told himself.
Instead he went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, drinking half of it before his mobile phone started ringing on the coffee table, where he’d left it a moment earlier. He walked through and answered it, not recognising the number on the screen.
‘Culverhouse.’
‘Ah, Detective Chief Inspector. Sorry to call so late. It’s Colin Walsh here, from the Mildenheath History Society. You came over to my house earlier, about the He
