So he could dispose of it, Tilly thought, or at least anything incriminating that it contained. She squeezed her fingers together, hoping that Connor would refuse, then the matter was taken out of his hands as the instrument in question gave its warbling call. Wilmot was startled, but cottoned on fast. He took two strides and grabbed it off the counter, pressing a couple of buttons. ‘Yep?’

Des’s voice broke into the room. ‘Connor? Des here. Christ, we just found Burns! The bastard cut his throat and dropped him in the service pit in the shed.’ His agitated voice bounced around the room. Wilmot, obviously unfamiliar with the phone’s workings, had put it on speaker. Des never paused, the words tumbling over each other. ‘He must’ve planned on being long gone before the body was discovered. If he turns up there, you’ve gotta stop him. I—’

The words cut off as suddenly as they’d begun. Wilmot dropped the handpiece and reached for his weapon. ‘Right.’ His voice was suddenly no longer weary, but cold and hard. ‘That was unfortunate – or maybe not.’ He aimed the gun at Connor. ‘You’ve been playing me for a fool, Doyle? Who’s this Des then, and where’d he call from?’

‘He’s an undercover cop, and the call was from the roadhouse at Alloway.’ Connor replied readily. ‘Best give it up, Wilmot – you won’t spin your way out of this. He knows you’re involved, that you’ve killed one of your own. You know cops. You don’t walk away from that. They’ll hunt you down, however long it takes.’

He sounded amazingly calm, Tilly thought, caught between fury and terror. She had told him this would happen.

‘That being so I’ve got nothing to lose.’

Her blood turned to ice at Wilmot’s reply. Her hand had closed convulsively over the pepper canister when the phone rang, and now she slid it into the pocket of her robe. It wasn’t much but if she could get close enough . . . She swept the sauce bottle onto the floor and shouted, ‘No!’

The policeman had plainly forgotten her presence. He jumped, then swung the barrel sideways in a beckoning motion. ‘You! Shut your mouth and get over here.’ She came around the counter’s end and his face reddened with anger as he took in the jeans below the hem of the robe. ‘A set-up,’ he snarled, grabbing her arm and yanking her towards him. Connor yelled something, and then everything happened at once as a deafening racket, akin to a jet engine firing, broke out on the verandah.

Tilly’s free hand had been working at the canister in her pocket. Wilmot, momentarily distracted by the earth-shattering roar behind him, had loosened his grip. She tore herself free, held her breath and, scooping up a handful of loose pepper, flung it into his face.