Yarrow was at his desk when the telephone call came through, advising that a woman’s body had been found on the golf course.
‘Harding,’ he shouted, ‘with me, dead body found on the golf course, the West Garside club.’
As he passed by the front desk he asked the desk sergeant, Dave Armitage, to arrange for the police surgeon to attend the scene as soon as possible.
Yarrow and Harding had barely left the CID offices before Harry Rawlings checked a telephone number from a pocket address book and picked up the phone.
‘Arnie,’ he said quietly when the call was answered, shielding his mouth with his hand, ‘got summat for you, there’s a body, a woman’s body, out on the course at the West Garside club. Yarrow’s on his way there now, with f*****g Mucus Harding tagging along like a puppy.’
‘Tha
