‘Oh yes, it was as clear as a pikestaff,’ Clement agreed. ‘As was the fact that both of her children most definitely did not!’

‘Scared he might be about to upset their very comfortable apple cart no doubt,’ Trudy said bitterly. ‘If either of those two spoilt brats do a day’s work in their life, I’ll eat my hat!’

*

According to the information Jasper had provided, Terry Parker’s place of business – Regal Cars – had set up their forecourt out near Osney Mead, but Trudy was sure that they wouldn’t be open on New Year’s Day. In fact, given the weather, she doubted they’d open tomorrow either – especially if it kept on snowing and the snowploughs didn’t get out that way.

Luckily, it didn’t take her long to get a home address for one Mr Geoffrey Thorpe, who lived less than a quarter of a mile away from the centre of town.

Unlike the dead man, Geoffrey Thorpe lived in a larger, more obviously family-friendly terraced house, with a bigger front garden. Now that the morning was advancing somewhat, they’d seen just a few more people out and about as they drove, but when Clement was forced to leave the car, yet again, in the middle of a road piled high on either side with snow, nobody was around to object.

As they made their way with some difficulty up a path that, as yet, hadn’t been dug clear of the latest snowfall, they could hear the sound of children’s excited voices coming from inside the Thorpe residence. So Trudy wasn’t surprised when a middle-aged, somewhat harassed-looking woman opened the door to them.

She looked instantly surprised, then alarmed, to see Trudy.

‘Good morning, madam, is this the Thorpe residence?’ Trudy asked, wishing her uniform didn’t have to scare everybody so whenever she called on them. Although she understood why it did, it made her feel like a proper pariah.

‘Yes. Is everything all right?’ the woman, presumably Mrs Thorpe, demanded quickly. She was a fleshy but pretty woman, with fading fair looks but nice blue eyes.

‘We need to speak to Mr Geoffrey Thorpe as a matter of some urgency,’ Trudy prevaricated carefully.

‘Oh, please, come along in – you must be freezing,’ the woman said, casting an apologetic glance at Clement, who had begun stamping his feet as his toes threatened to go numb. They followed her gratefully into a small hallway.

‘Head on right in here.’ She led them to a door, which opened off to the right. It was clearly their ‘best’ room, because it had that seldom-used feel to it. There was no Christmas tree here, or children’s toys scattered around. Only lace antimacassars on the backs and arms of the furniture and a nice Oriental rug on the linoleum in front of a Draylon sofa. It was also freezing.