‘She was setting up a sting on him. She hired an escort to seduce him while I was on his tail.’

Hannah’s eyes were wide. ‘Wow. But he didn’t bite?’

‘Wasn’t interested.’ Jenny scratched her neck. ‘There’s more. His wife is the one sleeping around. I saw her with a landscape gardener.’

‘Have you told him?’ Hannah said.

‘Not yet.’

‘Are you going to?’

‘I don’t know. Technically, I’m off the case and it’s none of my business.’

Hannah looked at her. ‘But?’

‘I should tell him.’

‘What’s stopping you?’

Jenny got up, stared at the boards, all the death and deceit, all the secrets and lies. ‘It’s not always easy to do the right thing.’

She thought about her mum holding Barbara’s skull in her hand, about some faceless man strangling Mel to death, about Orla sharing an orgasm with her gardener. She thought about Archie and his condition, thinking that he was dead. Then she remembered something from the other night, something she’d forgotten until now. The piece of paper. When she was comforting Mum, Archie had slipped a piece of paperwork onto the floor right here in the kitchen. Then when she looked again it was gone. She hadn’t realised at the time, but after last night it suddenly came to her. It was another burial from ten years ago.

She pushed her chair back and headed towards the door.

‘Mum?’ Hannah said behind her as she took the stairs, down to reception, where Indy was manning the desk.

‘Is Archie in?’

Indy shook her head. ‘He’s at the Western General on a pick-up.’260

Jenny went to the embalming room. Empty. She walked through to the workshop where Archie made up the coffins, no one around. She went to his desk, tools and wood scraps, swathes of material for coffin linings. She looked at the mess, the shelves of paperwork. She saw Archie’s jacket hanging up and went through the pockets, just cigarettes, a lighter, breath mints. She pulled out the first drawer of the desk, rummaged through the junk in there, no paperwork, then the next drawer down. She looked again at the shelves, folders of invoices and receipts, years of stuff to go through. It could be anywhere.

She turned and looked around the workshop. Stood thinking. There were three coffins on workbenches in different stages of completion. The nearest was very rough, just four sides, no bottom attached yet. The second was a complete structure but had no lining. The third was lined on the inside with silky white fabric. She stared into it for a few seconds then ran her hand around the material, from the head down to the feet. Felt normal. Then she ran her hands around the sides, from the bottom back to the top. It felt different along the headboard. Not rough wood underneath, something smoother. Paper.