‘I’m sure it doesn’t, Mrs Ellison, which is why, at this stage, it’s important to eliminate him from our enquiries.’

‘But why’s he even in your enquiries?’

‘Gwen …’ Jack’s hand rests lightly on her arm. ‘It’s all right.’ He passes her Bobby’s reins and somehow in the transfer their fingers tangle. When his rough skin finally slides from hers, tears spring to her eyes.

‘Thank you, Mr Ellison. If you’d just go with my colleague.’

Gwen perceives a slump in Jack’s shoulders as he follows the Detective Constable back to the car, the uniformed officer falling in beside him.

‘I don’t understand why …’ Gwen’s voice breaks before her words are complete. She leaves the shelter of the implement shed, the reins slipping from her slack fingers. ‘Jack!’

He twists back, his face full of compassion. ‘It’s all right, Gwen. Everything will be all right.’ The policeman pulls the car door open.

‘You can’t just take him like this, not without reason!’

‘Perhaps we do have reason, Mrs Ellison,’ the Inspector responds quietly.

Dread seeps through Gwen’s body. She bites her lip as Jack ducks into the back seat of the Austin. The policeman pauses to remove his helmet then gets in beside him. He reaches out to yank the door to. The Detective Constable waits at the driver’s side.

‘I’ll make my own way,’ the Inspector calls, holding up a hand in farewell.

The constable gets in and slams his door shut. The engine splutters into life and Gwen watches helplessly as the car reverses down the yard. She struggles to see Jack in the back seat, hidden behind the driver. A breath shudders from her as the car reaches the lane. The Inspector calls her name twice before it registers. She turns around, dazed.

‘I wonder if I might ask you a few questions?’

She desperately wants to object, but with Jack gone she is aware of her vulnerability, as if her defences have been drained. She acquiesces with a nod, wondering how she will find her voice when it seems to have deserted her. She loops Bobby’s reins around the handle of the scuffle and absently smooths her palm down his neck.

‘You mentioned the other day …’ The Inspector pulls out his notebook and makes a show of flicking through the pages, but it fails to dispel the impression he remembers precisely what she said. ‘… Hearing a gunshot?’ When she does not contest the evidence he smiles, his lips barely pulling clear of his nicotine-stained teeth. ‘Could you show me where you were when you heard it?’

‘At the top of the steps there …’

The Inspector nods.