Naturally, he was contrite and embarrassed. “Please accept my apologies,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never laid a finger on a woman before.” Robin patted his knee.

“It’s all right,” said Annie, eager to move on.

“Of course, if there are any medical expenses…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“How’s Mr. Wells?”

Annie had talked with the hospital and discovered that, while Norman Wells’s physical injuries were healing well, the psychological damage went a lot deeper. He seemed, they said, to be suffering from depression. He couldn’t sleep, but he didn’t want to get out of bed, had no interest in food and seemed unconcerned about his future. Hardly surprising, Annie thought, given what the poor sod had been through over the past week or so. And now the newspapers had got hold of the story, there’d be no more bookshop for Wells. Once everyone knew what he had been accused of, nobody would go down there, or if they did, it would only be to cause damage. Norman Wells would become a pariah.

“He’ll be fine,” Annie said. “Actually, I have a few more questions for the both of you.”

“I can’t imagine what more we can tell you,” said Robin. “But please go ahead.”

“First of all, do either you or your husband have a prescription for Valium or any other form of diazepam?”

Robin frowned. “Martin doesn’t, but I do. Nerves.”

“Have you noticed any missing lately?”

“No.”

“Would you?”

“Of course.” Robin reached for her handbag on the sofa beside her and took out a small plastic container. “Here they are,” she said. “Look. Almost full. Why do you ask?”

Annie looked, then dunked her digestive biscuit in her coffee. Though she had to eat it carefully, avoiding the loose teeth, it tasted good, and it gave her a moment to phrase her response to avoid using images that might upset Robin. “It’s just that the pathologist found traces in Luke’s system,” she said—it sounded better than “stomach contents.” “We were wondering where he got it from.”

“Luke? Valium? Certainly not from us.”

“And I assume he didn’t have a prescription of his own?”

Martin and Robin looked at each other, frowning. “Of course not,” said Robin. “Someone else must have given him it.”

“Is that what killed him?” Martin Armitage asked.

“No,” said Annie. “It’s just another complication I’d like to get out of the way, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry we can’t help you,” said Robin.

Annie struggled to phrase her next question, too. Talking to these two was like walking on eggs, but it had to be done. “Mrs. Armitage—Robin—you know Luke was confused about his biological father, don’t you?”

“Neil? Well, yes, I suppose…But, I mean, Luke never knew him.”

“Surely you knew he must have wondered what happened, why his father didn’t want him?”

“It wasn’t like that. Neil just couldn’t cope. He was a child himself in so many ways.”

“And a drug addict.”

“Neil wasn’t an addict. He used drugs, but they were just a sort of tool for him, a means to an end.”