A few weeks earlier, as a lax but family-conscious Hindu, he had been in Bedford with his parents celebrating what was still a spiritual festival during which Hindus welcomed the goddess of wealth, Lakshmi, with small lamps and religious ritual. Today in Britain Christmas was little more than an orgy of hedonism, with retail therapy and alcohol used to mark the birth of Christ. A young man battered to death in a Santa suit emphasised the distance the festival had drifted from its origins. His musings were interrupted by the arrival of SOCOs followed by Dr MacGregor. Baggo told Robertson to look after the crime scene. He wanted to pursue his own inquiries and decided to start with Belinda Parsley. She opened her bedroom door after a short delay. There was a film on the TV, an indentation in the bedcover. ‘Yes?’ she asked in a flat voice, then looked inquiringly at Baggo. ‘You served us dinner on Thursday night, didn’t you?’ He produced his warrant. ‘As I told you when your room was searched, I’m Detective Sergeant Chandavarkar.
