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Wendy and Luke Baxter had headed north to a village pub not far from county police HQ at Milton House. As the pub was not only fairly rural but also popular with the police, the owners were willing, more often than not, to stay open well beyond their usual hours.
They knew, too, that they were likely to get a call before too long to let them know that they’d either apprehended the killer or found another body, so this was going to be no early night for either of them.
This wasn’t the way Wendy wanted to spend her evening, but she’d been told by Culverhouse that she needed to clear the air with Luke. They’d been sat in near silence for a good few minutes, neither of them really knowing what to say to each other.
‘That Desmond Jordan’s up for the chop,’ Baxter said, taking a sip of hi
