“It’s probably nothing, but last night in the pub, she asked me about one of the guys she used to know in Bradford. A bloke called Fat Freddy. She wanted me to ask around and see what he was into just now that might be connected to Jett in some way,” Maggie said hesitantly.

“Did she say why?”

Maggie shrugged. “To be honest, I wasn’t paying a lot of attention. She said something like, she’d seen him talking to someone from the manor who shouldn’t be mixing with small-time villains like Fat Freddy.”

The whiff of red herring was getting pretty strong. If I’d been trying to divert suspicion away from myself, that was exactly the kind of unprovable line I’d come up with.

“Did she say who it was she’d seen with this Fat Freddy?” I asked cautiously.

Maggie shook her head. “I’m sorry, she didn’t. She said she wanted to find out what the connection was before she said anything more.”

I felt frustrated. Why couldn’t Maggie have shown a bit more interest in something other than her own relationship with Moira? Had she no natural curiosity? If I’d dropped something like that on Richard, he’d have been on it like a rat up a drain, demanding chapter and verse on everything I’d seen and heard. “What do you know about Fat Freddy?” I asked without much hope.

“He’s a bit of a wide-boy. Moira knew him from when she was working in Bradford. She told me he was into buying and selling—whatever came along. I met him once. Moira bought a couple of jogging suits from him.”

“Would you know where to find him?”

Maggie pulled a face. “Not really. Why? Do you think it might be important?”

“Yes, I do. I don’t know how yet, but it could be.”

“OK. I’ll see if I can find out what he’s up to and get in touch with you. It’s what Moira asked me to do.”

I tried not to show my surprise at her co-operation, and fished a card out of my wallet. I wrote my home number on the back. “If

“Believe me, the worst is yet to come. And I’m not talking about the police.” Maggie’s face had frozen into a cold mask. “There’s no framework for grief when you’re gay.”

“I’m sorry,” I said inadequately.

“Spare me the bleeding-heart liberal shit,” Maggie flashed back, suddenly angry. “Just leave me alone.”

It wasn’t hard to do exactly as she asked.