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'He wouldn't dare.'

'You'd be surprised what people will do for money'

'Not me,' the SOCO grunted, boxing the samples. 'You think I do this for fun?'

'Can I look at that note again?' Bartok asked.

I've already boxed it and listed it.'

'I'm sorry,' Bartok said. 'I need to look at it now. There's something really bugging me about that note.'

'Won't it keep?'

'Let him have a look at it,' Simpson said amiably. 'Relax man, what's the rush you got an invitation to that wedding or something?'

The SOCO sucked his teeth and made an irritated tutting noise. 'Make up your mind, Constable. I haven't got time to play games here.' He fished out the plastic envelope and handed it over. 'I'm not paid by the hour you know.'

'Death is not the worst thing that can happen to you,' Bartok read aloud. 'I mean how many suicide notes start like that?'

'Most of them do,' Simpson said. 'One way or another'

'Sergeant's right,' the SOCO said, turning his attention to packing up his forensic kit. 'That's every note I've ever seen.'

'Yeah, but they don't go on about how much worse it's going to be after they're dead do they?' Bartok insisted. His plump face was frowning but his voice was matter-of-fact as again he read aloud from the note: 'There is something worse than death that can happen. Living for ever in the darkness, always being afraid, always being alone. That has got to be worse than anything I can imagine. What if eternity turns out to be an airless agony of panic' He paused for effect before saying, 'I mean, if you felt like this would killing yourself seem like the best course of action?'

The SOCO snorted. 'Does the expression: while the balance of the mind was disturbed mean anything to you,' he said. 'Can I have the note back now?'

'What about the stuff at the end?' Simpson asked. The stuff about being too afraid to wait?'

'It's bollocks,' Bartok said. 'It's a rationalisation. I don't believe it for a second. If she was barking it's too rational. If she wasn't barking why the hell did she do this?' He gestured at the bed where most of the blood had drained, though it had also spurted up the adjacent wall and on to the floor.

'So what are you saying?' Simpson said. "The note was forged, dictated, what?'

'If I can have it back,' the SOCO demanded.

'Thanks,' Bartok said, carefully putting it back in the box the SOCO had taken it from.

The SOCO inclined his head ironically. 'Thank you, Constable.'

'You don't think this was a murder do you, Martin?' Simpson said. 'Not seriously? You're having another Blockbuster moment aren't you?'

Bartok shrugged unhappily. 'I just don't think it's what it appears to be, that's all Sarge. There's something not right about all this.'

The SOCO finished packing the equipment cases and stood them near the door. 'Maybe forensics will come up with something but I wouldn't hold your breath. I'm only the SOCO but I've got to say it looks straight up and down to me. There's no sign of a struggle, nobody walked through the blood or anything. The door was locked from the inside. The note looks like her handwriting. The prints on the knife will be hers, you watch. There was one clear one in the blood on the handle which I know was hers.' He picked up two of the cases.

'Do you want me to get a uniform to help you with those?' Simpson said.

'No thanks,' the SOCO said. 'I can't afford the breakages.'

When he had left the small room Simpson stood closer to the bed and stared at it as if he was trying to visualise the girl there. So,' he said. 'She writes the note. She lies down on the bed. She takes a Stanley knife and she cuts her wrists and as the blood pours out of her she cuts her throat just to be sure.'

How painful is that going to be?' Bartok said.

'It's going to hurt,' Simpson agreed. 'Poor little bugger was in a lot of pain.'

'But we still think she killed herself.' Bartok's voice was accusing but his expression was sorrowful rather than angry. 'We write it off as