“Hello,” she said, busy, friendly, detached. “How are things going?”

He did not know how to answer that.

“I need your help again,” he said. “ Could you tell me where Tom French was convicted and sentenced, and where the offence actually took place?”

On this occasion Jenny Kenning did not hesitate about whether she should give him the information.

“Just hang on,” she said, “I’ll look in the file. I know that the order wasn’t made in a local court.”

There was a short delay.

“I’ve found the original social inquiry report,” she said. “Tom appeared in Penzance magistrates’ court. The offence occurred while he was on holiday on St. Mary’s in the Isles of Scilly. Is that any help?”

“That’s just what I wanted to know. You’re wonderful.”

“Put in a good word for me when I get the sack for skipping team meetings.”

He laughed and was about to replace the phone when she stopped him.

“You might be interested to know that one of Tom’s friends is up in court soon—for possession of cannabis and assaulting the police. He’s on remand.”

“One of Tom’s friends?”

He was surprised. He thought of the twitchers he knew and wondered why he had not heard about any arrest.

“Dennis Shawcroft,” she said. “He’s a chef at the White Lodge.”

Somehow he had never thought of Tom and Dennis as friends.

“Were they friends?” he asked.

“They used to drink together. Tom liked to think of everyone as his friend. He mentioned Dennis occasionally.”

“Do you know when Dennis was taken into custody?”

“No, not without checking. But it was one day last week, because one of my colleagues visited him in the remand centre on Monday.”

So Dennis had not been involved in Adam’s accident. If he was in the remand centre he could not have pushed the boy down the well. George wondered if the police suspected Dennis of Tom’s death—a charge of assaulting the police was serious enough to warrant remand in custody, but it was also an easy charge to fabricate. Perhaps the police wanted time to collect further information. Perhaps they knew something which he didn’t.

“When is his case due to be heard?”

“Not for a fortnight. I must go. I’m wanted in the divorce court. Come and take me out to lunch again some time.”

“I will,” he said. “ Thank you so much. You’ve been a tremendous help.”

He stood for a while by the phone. Tom’s probation order was made in October, two years previously. That summer Sally had been on Tresco, Peter on St. Agnes and Tom on St. Mary’s, and all had been interested in birds. It was impossible to suppose that they had never met. Peter admitted knowing Tom, claimed that they had been friends—surely he would have invited Tom to visit him on St. Agnes. Peter would know if there had been any connection between Sally and Tom then. And if Sally had worked on Tresco for a whole season, she must at least have recognized the name of the son-in-law of one of the biggest landowners on Scilly. Why was she suddenly taken ill on the night of Ella’s party? To avoid seeing Peter, because he knew something of her relationship with Tom? Because she knew something about Adam’s “accident”?