‘So,’ Benwell said. ‘If you’re right we’re looking for someone in the valley – someone involved in the Cadver Estate.’ He scribbled on a piece of card. ‘This is my home number,’ he said. ‘If I’m not in someone will take a message. And I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve got the results from the pathologist.’ He stood up. ‘ I’d better get back to the wife and kids,’ he said. ‘They’ll be wondering what I look like,’ and he led George through the quiet, sun-drenched building to the cars.

When George got back to the farm it was dusk. He had driven through Appleworth past a roadside chapel, caught in the last of the sunlight, where old ladies in hats were gathering for the evening service. The trippers were gone and the town was quiet. George felt the exhilaration that always came at the beginning of an investigation, and the old guilt that he should gain such satisfaction from another person’s misfortune, especially someone he had liked as much as Ursula. When he was at the Home Office he had worked closely with the police. He had felt the same excitement then at the beginning of a challenging case, but it had been possible to justify it as necessary to the work. Now he was afraid that he was just playing at cops and robbers. It was a dilemma he thought he would never resolve. He could not give it up – it was as addictive as birdwatching. Molly seemed to have no moral qualms abut their inquiry agency. She had spent her career as a social worker, she said, and was used to interfering in other people’s business.

When he arrived at Back Rigg Molly was waiting for him and there was a smell of cooking. The kitchen was warm and welcoming. There was a light on. She was standing by the Aga, making gravy in a black meat tray, stirring it with a wooden spoon. The heat had steamed up her spectacles and when he came into the room she took them off and wiped them on her rather grubby jersey.

‘It’s chicken,’ she said. ‘It’ll soon be ready.’

‘You haven’t been at one of Ursula’s hens with a cleaver?’ he said. ‘We’re not that desperate.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘I found it at the bottom of the freezer and took it out last night.’ She produced a bottle of whisky from the dresser. ‘ I found this too at the back of the larder. It’s quite safe. It was sealed.’

George poured himself a glass and topped up hers.

‘I went to the pottery this afternoon,’ Molly said. ‘Jeremy Grenville was there.’

‘What did you make of them all?’ He always valued her opinion. She saw through bravado and pretence and picked up tensions that he missed.