Six.

The gravel driveway crunched under the tyres of the blue saloon as Barnaby glided up to the solid-looking wooden door. In the passenger seat, Scott let the crisp winter sunshine stream through the windscreen and abate the shivers the short walk from the office to the car park had brought on.

As Barnaby turned the engine off, both officers peered up at the large, ivy-covered house. The upstairs windows were all wide open despite the chill, and on the ground beside them, strewn across the gravel was a pile of men's clothes, the shirts and jackets ripped and slashed.

"The grieving widow Sir?" asked Scott, his eyes flicking in confusion from the windows to the pile of clothes. Barnaby shrugged, and pulled his jacket close around himself as he opened the door and stepped out into the cold. Scott, sighing as an icy breeze blew into the car, followed suit.

Barnaby, head huddled into the collar of his jacket, rapped briskly on the ornamental door knocker, and turned to watch his frozen looking Sergeant, who was standing a few steps behind him.

A small bronze statuette flew out of nowhere from above them, plummeting to earth with a resounding thud, missing Scott by an inch. The officers exchanged looks, startled, and Scott jumped into the porch with a glance up at the open upstairs windows. As he looked, a box folder flew from one of the windows, landing in the gravel and splitting open, sheets of paper blowing across the driveway.

Barnaby, trying to ignore the situation with stoicism, instead turned his attention to the door, which slowly crept open. A young girl, clutching a worn teddy bear under one arm, thumb clamped firmly in her mouth peered out with big eyes. Barnaby beamed down at her only to find the door wrenched open by an older woman with a greying perm who immediately began to fuss around the girl.

"Kitty! What have I told you about opening the door?"

The girl scampered off without a word, and the woman finally looked up to great her visitors. She looked worn, weary and stressed. She frowned at them in expectation,

"Can I help?"

Barnaby extended his badge and a sympathetic smile,

"Yes. I'm Inspector Barnaby, and this is Sergeant Scott…" behind him, Scott gave his customary nod of recognition, Barnaby continued, "…Mrs. Miller?"

The woman shook her head,

"No no, she's upstairs. Come in, I'll get her."

Barnaby stepped inside the hall, the warmth that hit him proving a great relief. He stamped his shoes on the welcome mat respectfully, resolving to dig out his winter coat when he got home, and frowning slightly as Scott trudged in, oblivious as to the welcome mat he'd been so careful to use.

"I'll get her." Repeated the first woman, heading upstairs.

Scott gazed about the hallway. The mahogany panelling and golden carpets warm against the cold of outside. He peered down a corridor, where a door was ajar at the end, opening into another warmly decorated room. A big pair of eyes was looking back at him, and he smiled at the little girl, who only blinked back at him, smiling around the thumb in her mouth shyly.

There was the sound of footsteps from upstairs, and the first woman appeared back looking apprehensive and a little embarrassed.

"Oh dear," she began, playing with the bottom of her cardigan, "I think maybe you'd better come upstairs Inspector."

Barnaby peered up at her, mildly surprised, his apprehension growing by the minute. As the woman disappeared back up the stairs Barnaby threw a look towards his sergeant.

"You'd better stay here."

Scott nodded, not in the least disappointed.

"Yes sir."

After a night of murder, snappy witnesses and nighttime attacks, he could easily do without a furious widow tearing her house apart room by room. No, best leave that one to the boss, he thought as the commotion upstairs raged overhead.

Yes definitely one for the DCI.

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Thanks for all the comments. Love reading them after a long day!