She listened to Graeme talking about his little cottage, and why he’d chosen to take Tilly there. After his divorce, he had taken some of the equity from the family home and bought a tiny stone dwelling in Bampton Grange, just north of Haweswater. It was miles away from anywhere, but an epic base for the best walks in the National Park, and it was all his. It had two open floors, a range in the kitchen, and one bedroom. He said the solitude had provided therapy at the time as he’d pondered what to do with his life. Eventually he’d worked through his feelings of grief and betrayal and had seen a vision of what his future might look like, but even though he’d bought a flat in Portinscale, he couldn’t bear to get rid of the cottage. Now, when he didn’t have the girls staying with him, he went there to think and to walk quiet trails. He’d nearly told his ex-wife about it, but had second thoughts. It was as if it was somehow symbolic of how he’d survived without her.

It was a lengthy explanation and it made Kelly re-evaluate Graeme. The depth and confidence he showed impressed her. He spoke like a survivor, and she guessed the divorce had been extremely painful.

‘You must trust her,’ he said.

‘Tilly?’

He nodded. ‘You’ll understand when you meet her. I’ve never met anyone so passionate and driven.’

It was what Johnny said about Kelly.

She drove expertly along the tiny twisting lanes, passing Haweswater reservoir. She felt a pang as she thought of little Lottie Davis, who’d gone missing there so many years ago. The family had been walking along the gnarly shoreline and Lottie had been playing hide-and-seek with her brother. She gripped the steering wheel tighter.

They spotted Lowther Castle in the distance, sitting majestically among the trees. She’d never been there. This side of the Lake District was gentle and rolling, the dry-stone walls weaving across bright green fields for miles. Tourists rarely ventured over this way. Soon Graeme told her they were almost there. She’d never been to Bampton or Bampton Grange. The village itself was tiny and charming. Rolling fields surrounded stone cottages and the narrow roads were deserted. She imagined it must be hell for a journalist sniffing a story to be holed up here. The irony.

Graeme told her where to park. He looked about furtively.

‘Does she have any idea who might want to hurt her, or who might have her laptop?’

‘No. She just knows that whoever it is killed George and his work colleagues.’

‘What makes her so sure?’

‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’

He took a key from his jeans and walked down a pretty path to a cottage standing on its own. The garden was mature and well looked after. The curtains were closed. Inside, it was stuffy and warm.