Anik showed the screen of his mobile to Ridley.

“One point five mill, sir. It’s got a double garage, games room and covered swimming pool.”

Ridley closed his eyes in momentary, silent despair. Not only was Anik seemingly under the baffling impression that Ridley wanted to buy the house—but Mike Withey paying for a mansion with the proceeds of a train robbery suddenly looked like a possible scenario.

“What will you tell her about the body?” Ridley asked.

“I won’t mention the circumstances or condition of the body, sir. It’s currently just an unidentified male whose physical description is similar to that of her ex-husband.”

Ridley got out the car and headed toward Susan’s house. Once he heard Anik’s short steps scurrying after him, he locked his BMW.

Susan was an austerely beautiful woman—calm and almost serene in manner. Ridley thought she seemed like a person who’d seen bad times, but kept her emotions well concealed. Her jogging bottoms sat loosely on her hips and were rolled up once at the waistband; they looked more like Mike’s than hers. She wore a tight white tank top over her athletic figure. She wore nothing on her feet and her tiny toenails were painted bright red. Ridley thought she must be in her early fifties, but she looked ten years younger than that. Being single and Mike-free seemed to suit her.

The lounge was minimalist in its décor, with off-white walls, a dark brown wooden floor and white blinds at the windows. No frills, no fuss. Color was introduced by the red embroidered cushions on the white sofa, and the abstract paintings on the walls. Among the paintings were framed pieces of artwork done by a young child or children. It was as though Susan had very kindly surrounded her children’s artwork with that of adults who had little additional skill, so that all the paintings looked to be on a par with one other.

Anik carefully and delicately explained that they’d found an unidentified body that could possibly be that of her husband. He was tactful, respectful and, although long-winded, he was doing well, Ridley thought.

Susan’s imagination, understandably, ran riot.

“How did he die?” she asked, putting her hand to her mouth.

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge that at this stage, Mrs. Withey.”

Just as Anik started to relax, his eyes fell to a newspaper on the table and the front-page story headlined ARSON AND MURDER IN FORMER POLICE OFFICER’S HOME. His expression immediately gave him away. There was no doubt, if Anik ever played poker, he’d lose his shirt.

“No . . .” she breathed quietly.

She picked up the paper, dropped to the sofa and quickly scanned the article.

Anik looked at Ridley for guidance. Ridley turned away and let him get on with it. He had to learn.

Eventually, Susan spoke. “Is this the case you’re investigating?”

Anik had no choice. “Yes.”

“Did he . . . ? Did the fire . . . ? Was he alive when . . . ?”