‘Anyone else?’ he asks.

‘Not that I recall.’

‘Did anyone used to spend a lot of time there?’

I shake my head.

‘Or avoid it?’

‘No.’ I look at him quizzically.

‘Did either of your parents have a strong affinity with the place?’

‘It was on the edge of our garden,’ I say. ‘But neither of them went there more than anywhere else.’

Harwood nods but I can see he isn’t getting what he wants. ‘What about over these last few days? You’ve just been back to the island, did you see anyone hanging around there more than you’d think usual?’

‘There were loads of people there the day we all found out it was Iona, a huge crowd,’ I say.

‘Who did you recognise?’

I list the group lingering by the trees: ‘Annie Webb, Ruth Taylor, Susan and Graham Carlton, only Graham …’ I falter as I recall it ‘… he didn’t stay. I was going to talk to him but he’d already walked off.’

‘Okay.’ Harwood nods, watching me carefully, as if this is at least a nugget of interest. ‘Was anyone in particular missing from the crowd?’

‘Bob Taylor wasn’t there. Neither was Emma Fisher, though I saw her right after in the village with her daughter. They were having an argument,’ I add. ‘I don’t know what about.’

‘Great. This is all very helpful, Stella,’ he tells me, though his face is deadpan and I’m not entirely sure it’s getting him anywhere.

‘Also …’ I pause, still unsure if I want to pass on this information. ‘Someone sent me a note. With everything that happened with Danny, I forgot to tell you about it on Thursday. It told me to stop digging.’

‘Do you still have it?’ He looks up as I dip into my coat pocket and pull it out.

An hour and a half later I have finally finished answering the detective’s questions. I tell him I need the toilet, so we say goodbye and I turn right, passing the hushed voices spilling out from other rooms. My mind is so focused on what he has asked, and what he may do with the note, that it’s not until I’m heading for the exit I suddenly stop.

‘… not just even the fact the body was found somewhere else entirely,’ a man is saying. I duck back against the wall, making sure I’m out of sight. They must be talking about Iona but their words are low and I strain to hear only snatches of the conversation.

‘… injuries from falling could have killed her …’

‘… not sure?’

‘No. Doesn’t seem like it …’ someone says before their voices fade. I press closer.

‘… to make it look like she hit a rock?’

‘Yes. More like a blunt instrument.’

A door at the far end bangs and a woman comes out, eyeing me suspiciously. I peel myself away and follow her to the main door.