‘There’s a but? I knew there would be.’

‘It’s about the knife. I need to take it. We found one at Mary’s too but it was fully curved like a crescent moon.’

‘Her boline?’

‘Yes, I believe that’s what Rob called it.’

‘But that’s for cutting herbs, and this is for worship only. Why would you want to take it?’

‘Isn’t it obvious, given the way Mary was killed?’

‘But this knife…’

‘Give it to me.’ She found plastic gloves in her handbag and he handed it over. She felt for him, but she couldn’t reveal details from the case to reassure him now.

‘Wait, I have a sheath for it.’ He went under the table and brought out a jewelled leather holster, slipping the knife into it.

‘Are there many types of athame and boline, Fred? I’m confused by why such a peace-loving organisation such as yours would put emphasis on knives.’

‘It’s not an organisation, and they are purely symbolic. It’s tradition that goes back to when a knife was the main tool of life, before microwaves and plastic forks. And yes, they’re as varied as ornaments. The rarest and most ornate go for thousands at auction. But it’s the symbolic value that is important to us. This one was given to me by a friend in Scotland. It was in his family for four generations, dating back to 1792.’

‘I’ll look after it.’ She took a plastic evidence bag out of her handbag and slipped it into it.

‘Did Mary have an athame as well as a boline?’

‘Of course.’

‘Could you describe it?’

‘I saw it many times, and I held it. It was more curved than mine, with a dragon at the hilt. It was more pointed than mine too, and had a blue gemstone on the handle. I can see if I can find a picture of something similar? Didn’t you find it at her house?’

Kelly shook her head. ‘Can you look for a similar one in a picture?’

He nodded, and Kelly knew that he’d worked out what she was thinking: that Mary’s athame could have been used on her.

‘That would be so helpful. You better go back up.’ He did so, slowly and heavily.

She took off her gloves and went out into the garden and was faced with around ten people staring at her. They fell silent.

‘Good afternoon, I’m Detective Inspector Porter. I’m going to ask each of you to come into the rear kitchen, one at a time. You’ll be formally interviewed again at a later date. Do not leave the premises without my permission.’

Her eyes met those of an elderly gentleman and she stopped speaking.

‘What’s your name, sir? Can I start with you, please.’

‘Jock Harris.’ He got up slowly to follow Kelly, who made her way back into the house.