As he had said, the room where Felicity worked was empty and her typewriter was covered. Molly opened and closed the outer door so he would think that she had left the building, then, without any idea what she was looking for, began to search the drawers of the desk. There was little of interest and she was about to leave when she heard Simon Barton’s voice in the other room. He was speaking on the telephone.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How would you like a weekend in the Highlands? I’ve got to go for work.’

There was a pause.

‘Go on. You’d enjoy it. Besides, I want you to come … All right. Think about it. Give me a ring next week.’

He stopped again and then spoke so softly that Molly could hardly hear. ‘Bye, Alex,’ he said. ‘And take care.’

When Molly got to Keeper’s Cottage Marie Liddle was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. She was jointing a rabbit and the slimy grey flesh slid over the melamine chopping board. The footsteps in the yard and the knock on the back door surprised her. She rinsed her hands under the tap and opened the door.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ Molly said. ‘I wouldn’t come at this time if it wasn’t important.’

‘Come in,’ Marie said. ‘You won’t mind if I carry on with this. Vic’ll be in soon and somehow I’m all behind today.’

There were onions and carrots frying in a pan on the stove. She shook flour over the rabbit pieces and added them to the pot. Molly sat at the kitchen table and waited until she had Marie’s full attention. The woman’s depression surprised her. In other circumstances she would have expected the keeper’s wife to be enjoying the drama of the reporters at the Cadver gate, imagined her on the phone to her friends, passing on the news. Now she was listless and tired, hardly interested in what her visitor might have to say.

In the pan the meat sizzled and Marie moved it around with a wooden spoon to stop it burning. She took an empty milk bottle from the windowsill and filled it with water which she poured over the rabbit. She folded a teatowel in two and lifted the pan into the oven. Then she turned to Molly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘ Would you like some tea?’

Molly shook her head. ‘ I’m here about Cassie,’ she said.

‘What about Cassie?’

‘I know about her,’ Molly said. ‘ I know she’s not your child.’

‘It’s no secret,’ Marie said harshly. ‘I never pretended she was mine. We adopted her when she was a baby.’