One.

Barnaby was grinning from ear to ear. He was tired, worn, and had barely slept for two days, but he was elated.

His jacket flapped open as he strode down the corridor, rounding the corner and vaulting the stairs up into the CID open office. He smiled as his eyes fell on Scott, a drained looked figure leant over his desk, head in hands, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, for all the world looking to be studying a file that lay open on the desk.

Barnaby knew better.

"Scott!" he chirped briskly, striding over and throwing down another folder before the dark-haired DS, who looked up with a start. Scott looked slowly from the file to his boss, a frown sliding across his face as he looked at the paper before him.

"Who's this?" he asked, picking it up.

Barnaby stood back, looking pleased. He leant over to stab at the paper with a finger,

"That is Jeffrey Morrissey's father…" The look on Barnaby's face told Scott that he was expected to make a certain response. He paused to take in the photo before him,

"Looks just like George Thompson,"

Barnaby nodded, and leant over to take the paper back.

"Exactly."

Scott stood up and walked around the other side of his desk, leaning back against it, facing his boss as he tried to piece everything together, wondering, why he couldn't have a straightforward case, for just once.

"So, Jeffrey Morrissey's father was the illegitimate son of George Thompson by Annie Rigby, which meant he would have been beneficiary, until Helen Adams turns up with a stronger claim."

Barnaby nodded, and took over the story,

"So Jenna Rigby had to go because she found her grandmother's letters, Henry Gates was the only one old enough to remember Helen existence, and Lance Davenport, who found the photo of Jeffrey Morrissey's father in Olivia Thompson's files nearly became victim number three,"

Scott shook his head in disbelief,

"I don't know Sir, they tell you things are more simple in the country. At least in the cities you know what you're getting, a mugging, a burglary, but here…a murder over a one hundred year old affair and two illegitimate children trying to claim a six hundred year-old estate. All seems a bit barmy to me."

Barnaby threw his eyes to the heavens, a smile creeping across his lips. He doubted Scott would ever truly find peace with his country placement, but it was amusing watching him try none the less.

"Sir," Barnaby turned to find a uniformed officer standing, almost nervously in front of them. Barnaby smiled warmly at him,

"Yes, how may I help?"

The officer turned a shade of crimson and cleared his throat,

"Err, Cully Barnaby here to see you Sir,"

Barnaby smiled,

"Oh! Thank you!"

The officer turned a deeper shade of red, clearly a little panicked,

"Err, no Sir," he gabbled, "Not you," he turned to Scott embarrassed, "You Sir,"

Scott blinked,

"Me?"

The officer nodded, and Scott exchanged a puzzled look with his boss, who simply shrugged. Scott put down his file, intrigued and followed the officer towards the reception, trying to check the smile creeping across his face. A smile, which didn't go unnoticed by Barnaby.

Cully was standing in the reception casting her eyes over the notice board. Scott smiled as he spotted her, browsing through the leaflets, adverts and appeals all pinned before her. She was wrapped up warmly against the cold, a big thick coat and a fluffy pink scarf wrapped firmly around her neck.

Scott had never known anyone like her, the girls from where he'd come from were all completely self-sufficient, engaged and with kids by their early twenties, loud, confident. Not that Cully wasn't confident or self-sufficient, but in a totally different way. To Scott, she was the personification of the term 'the-girl-next-door.'

He sighed as he drew closer to her, and threw his eyes to the sky. It was not a good idea to fall for the boss' daughter. Soft spot, that was what he had for her. A soft spot. Nothing else.

"Daniel!" she turned to him with a genuine smile, and he felt his throat close up. He cleared it quickly,

"Cully. What can I do for you?"

"Well, I need you to do me a favour," she asked, her face screwing up as if she were about to ask for something outrageous. She paused,

"Go on," he sighed, trying to sound grudging but the cheeky smile across his face giving away his delight.

"Well, I've got tickets to the Theatre for Thursday…"

Scott felt the smile turning to a grin,

"…and you see, I was wondering, well, Roger's best friend is in town and she doesn't know anyone, and if we went as a threesome it might be a bit, well, awkward, for her. So I was wondering if you would come as well."

The smile faded,

"Wait a minute," Scott frowned, "You're going with Roger?"

Cully's face folded in confusion,

"Well, yes,"

"And you want me to go with you and take Roger's friend…"

"Louise…" Cully added. Scott sighed. Spending the evening with Roger Parker, he couldn't think of anything worse. Except maybe an evening with Roger and Cully together. He pulled a face,

"Well…I don't know, I mean…" he stopped to look at her, her face hopeful, and let out a deep sigh, "Sure. Be glad to."

Cully's face lit up, and she put a gloved hand on his arm,

"Thank you. I knew you'd do it. You're a lifesaver, I owe you."

Scott gave her a look of mock severity,

"I'll hold you to that."

She smiled,

"I'll pick you up at seven,"

He managed a weak smile and she shouldered her bag once more,

"Is my dad still here?"

Scott nodded, and watched her role her eyes. She shook her head at him with a grin,

"Send him home will you, mum's forgetting what he looks like!"

Scott laughed and walked her to the door, pushing it open for her. She turned to him, her face warm,

"Thanks again Dan,"

He smiled,

"No problem."

He let the door swing shut behind her, and watched as she walked across the car park, his head dropping as he closed his eyes, suddenly aware how tired he was once again.

He sighed.

That had not gone the way he had been hoping. He turned to head back to the office, cursing another bad day in the country.