He checked his notes on the three remaining women from The Grange. He considered Ester’s opinion of Connie as a woman who’d never had an original thought in her life and he wondered . . .

He called Laura. “Do me another favor, please?”

“‘Hi, Laura. How are you?’” she interrupted sarcastically, then quickly added, “Go on.”

“Connie Stephens. Can you see if there’s a B&B in Taunton called The Grange?”

Jack could hear Laura tap-tapping away on her keyboard. She spoke the words as she typed them, which was a habit of hers that he hated.

“Oh, by the way,” she said as she waited for the search results to show up, “Arnie Fisher died in 2012 from AIDS. And Tony Fisher’s in Pentonville for manslaughter. He’s got four years left.” Then more tap-tapping.

Before Jack could thank Laura for her help, he heard Ridley’s distant voice at the other end of the phone.

“How are the Fishers connected to our murder victim at Rose Cottage?”

Leaving Laura to stumble her way through a half-remembered response about the Fishers’ connection to Dolly Rawlins, Jack leapt off the sea wall, binned his fish and chips and grabbed the first person he came across.

“Where would I find a taxi, please?”

“Ryde train station’s your nearest taxi rank—an hour’s walk that way. But John at the post office sometimes . . .”

Jack raced toward the post office, phone clamped to his ear.

Ridley was asking about B&Bs in Taunton.

“Jack had a hunch that Connie’s B&B in Taunton might be called The Grange, so I’m seeing what’s registered and cross-referencing . . .” Jack heard her tapping the keyboard.

Ridley interrupted her. “Why’s Jack got you doing it? Is that him?”

There was a muffled sound as he snatched Laura’s mobile.

“Jack?” Ridley boomed before realizing that he was shouting. “Jack,” he said more quietly, “when you get back, I want a full debrief in my office.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jack, trying not to sound out of breath.

Should he explain to Ridley about the importance of buying his dying dad a prime fillet steak for the last time and hope he cared enough to be lenient? Or should he stick to the lie he’d planned about helping the Port Authorities with an invented disruptive passenger? Would Ridley believe he was a dutiful policeman? In reality, this thought process only took one second, and before he could begin his lie, Ridley cut in.

“You running? Where are you?”

Jack braced himself for a bollocking.

“Um . . .” he began, but Ridley interrupted him again.

“Hang on, Jack. Laura says there is a ‘Grange B&B’ in Taunton with the registered owner showing as Connie Stephens. How did you get to that?”

“It was something Ester said about Connie never having an original thought in her life, sir.”

Jack could hear a change of tone. “Well done. I’ll see you when you get back later. What time do you expect that to be?”