Twelve.

For the second time in as many days, Barnaby had sent Scott home early. Better having him asleep in bed than on his desk. The case had been fairly short and fairly straight forward, as had the arrest as soon as the spatula had been wrenched from Lorraine Miller's hand.

Barbara had of course, been devastated by her daughter's actions and Barnaby had taken it upon himself to sit with her until she'd had the strength to be interviewed by a friendly-looking WPC. By the time he'd left, she'd been determined to stay strong for her granddaughter, and the DCI had no reservations that she would not.

So now, it was just a matter of paperwork, and rather a lot of it as well. As he wound his way around the cluttered desks of his colleagues, he felt glad that Scott was not present, paperwork had never really suited the Londoner, and his moods tended to blacken around it.

It was as he scooted to one side to avoid a woman carrying a hot mug of tea, that he collided with a mound of files on someone's desk, sending the pile to the floor.

"Oh I'm terribly sorry!" he gushed, turning to survey the mess. Behind the desk, a frazzled-looking DC newly promoted from uniform sighed,

"It's ok sir," he muttered dejectedly.

Barnaby stooped to rectify the situation,

"Here, let me help."

He began to pick up great handfuls of paper, depositing them in any order onto the desktop, much to the bemusement of the detective, for whom several hours of careful organising had just been ruined,

"You don't have to sir," he interjected weakly, showing no signs of lending a hand himself.

Suddenly Barnaby paused, a glossy photograph in his fingers, he was peering at it with interest. The DC leant forward to take a look,

"Oh, that's – ," he didn't get to finish, Barnaby already knew who it was,

"Mary Saddler."

"That's right sir."

The DCI put it onto the desk with the rest of the sheets,

"Investigating her attack are you?"

"Err, no sir, that's an old file – unrelated incident."

Maybe it was the years of policing that did it, maybe it was gut instinct, but suddenly, Barnaby was intrigued,

"What kind of incident?"

"Stalking."

He raised his brows,

"She had a stalker?"

"No, no. She was one," the DC realised his mistake, "Allegedly."

Barnaby narrowed his eyes,

"Who brought the charges?"

"Err – ," the younger detective studied the papers before him, leafing through until he found the right one, "A Mr. Mitch Cannaby, the ex-boyfriend."

The name rang a bell, he was sure it was the same man Scott had mentioned Mary Saddler as having accused of her night-time attack.

"When was this?"

More checking of facts,

"A month ago."

It was all very interesting. The detective leant forward,

"These were in here too sir," he handed over a small plastic bag containing a pair of earrings, "Cannaby brought them in to return to her, only I guess no one ever did."

Barnaby took them up, smiling at the young man,

"Thank you Duncan. I'll see to it."

As one case closed, another one opened. Barnaby frowned, grabbing the keys off the edge of his desk. The paperwork could wait.