‘What are you saying? That Joanna killed Ursula because Ursula found out that Cassie was her illegitimate child? I thought you said they were fond of each other?’ He made his voice as cruel and mocking as he could manage. This time it was Molly’s turn to sound uncertain.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps that’s ridiculous after all.’

They went to bed very late in tense ill-temper, hardly talking to each other.

Chapter Seventeen

Benwell arrived at Back Rigg early the next day in response to the message George had left at the police station. They heard his car driving up the track and he was unusually excitable, quite convinced of Craven’s guilt. He accepted George’s offer of breakfast and the men sat together at the table, being loud and male, making jokes, excluding Molly from the conversation. She was not too offended. She put the rudeness down to nerves and exhilaration. But she was worried for them. She was quite sure that they had the whole thing wrong. It was at the same time more complicated and more simple than they seemed to think. She regarded them as school children who have to learn by their own mistakes, and watched them go off with a sigh.

George felt overcome by a sort of temporary madness. It had something to do with his admiration for Benwell. They got on so well together and there was the pleasure of working again as part of a male team. The madness was of the kind that provokes respectable men to shout and scream at rugby matches. He felt that the case would soon be over and then they could celebrate with pints of beer and reminiscence.

When they approached the Lodge the mood left him quite suddenly and he became serious. He thought they were not adequately prepared and Molly’s question ‘Why would Craven want to kill Ursula?’ took on a greater significance. He was glad that he had no real responsibility and that Benwell was in charge of the investigation. Benwell seemed typically unworried. He knocked loudly on the door and waited patiently for a reply. No one came. He looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock.

‘Perhaps he’s already at work,’ George said. He was quite relieved. He wanted to pull back and take the time for further thought.

Benwell knocked again and put his ear to the door to listen for movement. There was none. He turned the handle slowly and pushed open the door. The room was empty and when they opened the doors into the kitchen and the bathroom it was clear that Craven had already left. The main room was untidy and there was the stale, sour smell of unwashed sheets. Little attempt had been made to provide comfort – there was a chair, a rented television on legs, a settee. It was as if Craven had been camping out there.