Peach stood on the steps of the high stone Victorian mansion, sniffed the air appreciatively, and surveyed the scene. There were students streaming in various directions, concluding their morning lectures and making for the refectory or bars, bustling like ants about their business. The day was still, and a pale sun shone out of a muted blue sky, illuminating the amber and orange on the oaks and limes which had grown here for almost two centuries, making the eye aware of subtle shades which it would have missed on a duller day. This wasn’t a bad place to be, especially when you had the delightful Lucy Blake at your side. Peach looked at the masses of scurrying humanity and frowned. ‘If this is murder, there are a thousand bloody suspects. Every bugger you can see out there had access to the Director’s house!’ It was no more than the ritual protest of a professional about to embark upon a difficult task and DS Blake recognized it as such.
