They are just sitting down to well-earned coffees when a child near the window starts yelling excitedly, “Mummy! Mummy! Look! There’s a murder on the pavement!”
Coffees abandoned, they rush to the door, expecting to see blood and mayhem. But the street outside is notably free from death and violence. The only excitement to be seen is a flurry of black feathers as several indignant birds flap and squawk their way from the cobbles to some nearby trees.
“The collective noun for a group of crows is…”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Lewis interrupts. “I know. Sometimes I hate bloody Oxford...”