Could DCI Roz be tempted out of retirement to solve a flurry of apparently connected crimes?
BY ALEXANDRA BENEDICT
Look, Eve! It’s only November, but it’s snowing!” Roz Parker carried her eleven-month-old granddaughter to the kitchen window.
Fort William was laid out below them, dawn dusting snow-topped houses like pumpkin spice. The neighbours were building a bonfire of crisp leaves.
Eve placed her plump starfish hand on the glass, then snatched it away, surprise on her little face.
“Cold, isn’t it?” Roz said, cuddling Eve. “Can’t be doing with snow myself. Covers too many secrets.”
She knew, though, that if she’d wanted to avoid autumnal snow she should have stayed a Met detective rather than retiring to the Highlands.
Eve’s eyes widened as flakes pressed their symmetrical faces to the glass.
“Can’t deny they’re pretty, though. Each one is different. Don’t ask me why.”
Eve turned to Roz as if asking why.
“If your mother didn’t know something I told her to look it up, so I should take my own advice. For once.”
Roz sat down with Eve on her lap and scanned explanations on her phone.
“Apparently every flake is made up of ten quintillion water molecules, making the likelihood of repetition unlikely.” She took a sip of coffee with cinnamon syrup. “Each is shaped by atmospheric conditions. A bit like humans.”
Heather, Roz’s daughter, walked in. Eve wiggled, holding her arms out to her mummy. Heather plonked her shopping bags on the table and gathered up Eve.
Roz went to refill the kettle.
“No time for tea, Mum,” Heather said, “you need to get into town. My mate Colin from Police Scotland has asked you to help him with a case.”
“My investigating days are over.”
Heather placed a hand on her arm.
“Manda Yates, Imogen’s daughter, was attacked. She’s in a coma.”
Roz felt cold, as if she’d fallen into deep snow. Imogen Yates had been her childhood friend.
They’d lost contact when Roz went to London, but she still had fond memories as strong and steeped as first-thing tea, of playing and laughing with Imogen.
Since Roz had been back, they’d met up a few times and settled right back into the same ease and giggles.
“What happened?”
“Manda was hit on the head.”
Roz felt sick at the thought, so how must Imogen feel? She held Heather for a long moment – grandmother, mother and daugh
