His days ended late, but they didn’t usually start so early. If there were any justice in the world, he’d be lying in bed listening to Today, waiting for ‘Thought for the Day’ to shift him into the shower. Or better still, he’d be cuddling up to Oriana’s warm naked body beside him with the alarm clock set on snooze. He shivered. No sense making things worse for himself. DC Gerry Masterson stood beside him. She had been first in the squad room that morning, keen newcomer that she was, and, as usual, first to read through the nightlies, which detailed all the police-involved incidents that had occurred in the region overnight. Usually it was a matter of drink-drivers, the occasional domestic or late-night pub brawl that got out of hand, but this time, she told him, she had noticed one interesting item: a fire at Riverview Caravan Park. That rang a bell, and when she enquired further of the desk sergeant, she was able to discover that the caravan belonged to one Morgan Spencer.
