Pike moved slightly trying to find a more comfortable position; he was propped up in bed glued to a thriller novel. He knew he would be tired in the morning but he had to find out why the murderer left these extraordinary clues. His wife stirred next to him. 'Why does he cut the finger off?' pondered Pike, ' How does that fit into the crime?' He glances to the back of the novel and reads the blurb for any clues. A smile crossed his face as he saw the words ' the wedding murderer' and then the one word title 'Revenge' began to fit in place. 'So the finger is something borrowed? Very clever.' Pike was content that he had solved the mystery before the end of the novel. He switched off the light and fell into a deep sleep.

He was awakened to the shrill tone of his mobile. Putting a hand out he grabbed it 'Pike - I'm on my way.'

He arrived at a small cottage on the edge of Barton. There were several blue lights flashing and tape cordoned off the cottage. Jones was standing by the side of his car.

'Sorry Gov.'

'That's okay Jones what do we have?'

'Little old lady brutally murdered.'

'Something old,' murmured Pike.

'Sorry Gov?'

'Nothing, nothing at all.'

They entered the cottage and found the body of Janet Bloomsbury sprawled across the kitchen floor. She had been strangled but the severing of the third finger on the left hand stunned Pike at first. Jones turned white and was about to vomit.

'Who the hell would sever the finger of a victim?'

'Someone out for revenge.'

Pike wondered if the dress she was wearing was coincidence or perhaps he was allowing his novel to cloud his vision but she was wearing blue.

'Why revenge?' said Jones breaking into Pike's train of thought.

'What? Ah revenge. Just a hunch. What have we got on Mrs Bloomsbury?'

'We've run a check through the computer but nothing significant. A couple of officers are doing a house to house.'

'Find out all you can about her.'

Later that morning Pike found himself sitting in the kitchen of a neighbour Ms Sophie Trent. A rather large formidable sort of woman, the kind you tend not to mess with; she had been a major in the army.

'You wanted to speak with me Mrs Trent?'

'Ms not Mrs, Inspector; I made that quite clear to the other officer.'

'Sorry. What can you tell me about Mrs Bloomsbury?'

'Well call it intuition but using my army training in intelligence I began to suspect something wrong a few weeks back. Some guy sniffing around the village asking questions.'

'What type of questions?'

'I'll get to that later. I confronted the guy in the local pub asked him why he was hanging around the village. Didn't see any point in troubling the police. Kept an eye on him, seemed interest in Mrs Bloomsbury.'

'Did he speak with her?'

'That's just it. She came out of her cottage last Friday and they had an exchange of words and she looked horrified and fled back inside. I told him to clear off. That certainly wiped the smile off his face. Next day the postman delivered a parcel to the cottage this perplexed poor Mrs Bloomsbury because she hadn't ordered anything.'

'Something new.'

'What?'

'Nothing. I'll be in touch.'

'I haven't told you the best bit.'

'Pardon?'

'He's trussed up in my spare room,' she smiled 'said something about revenge for being jilted at the altar.'