One of the three Coroner’s Officers was a bulky curmudgeon called Bill Prosper. Prosper was an ex-policeman, and an old enemy of Winter’s. They’d been on the same relief together way back and as a direct consequence Prosper viewed Winter as a permanent stain on the force’s reputation. If he’d found Winter in the laundry basket, he’d once told a colleague, he’d have taken him to the dry cleaners for a thorough going-over. ‘This is Jimmy Suttle.’ Winter knew exactly how to wind Prosper up: ‘I’m teaching him how to be a proper detective.’ Prosper threw a look at Suttle and then nodded at a desk in the corner of the big open-plan office where a significant bundle of buff files awaited their attention. ‘Sixty-seven and counting,’ he said. ‘And that’s only October.’ ‘You’ve got coffee here?’ ‘There’s a machine in the passage. Help yourself but go easy on the milk.’ Winter and Suttle exchanged glances. Winter had already been on the phone to Prosper, wanting a steer on those October fatalities that might warrant further attention.
