“Why leave daffodils at the crime scenes?” It was the guv’s question but Bev had been asking herself the same thing. She’d kept tabs on the inquiry over the weekend via calls to the incident room. Not difficult, nothing had shifted. “Could it be a ruse? To throw us off the scent?” Bev asked. Byford sighed. “Are you trying to be funny?” A Morriss-glare silenced a couple of sniggers. “I mean it, guv. There may be no significance. Just toe-rags trying to be smart-arses. You know, let’s take the piss out of Mr Plod.” It was the only conclusion she’d drawn, in between viewing houses and catching up on chores, not to mention a Thai takeaway and a Jude Law DVD. Oz had been playing it cool. So cool he hadn’t even phoned. Unlike Tom Marlow, who’d called last night. They’d hooked up for a quick drink. She didn’t know if it was going anywhere but it was fun finding out.
