‘No. Well, it would only cause more trouble in the village. I’m thinking about the welfare of Jo and the children.’

‘So what made you change your mind now?’

‘The murders,’ said Brindley. ‘That’s what they are, aren’t they? The two bodies at Pity Wood Farm? If Jack Elder is connected in any way to those, I couldn’t possibly keep quiet any longer.’

‘But what makes you think he might be connected?’

Brindley leaned forward. ‘I said I’d seen him many times away from the pub. Perhaps I didn’t make it clear that the place I used to see him most often was coming and going from Pity Wood Farm with his lorry.’

Fry made a note in her notebook, listening to the quietness in the house.

‘Is your wife not at home, sir?’

‘No,’ said Brindley, relaxing again. ‘She’s at extra rehearsals in Edendale today. Some panic over a few changes to the dance routines for the chorus.’

‘A Christmas production of some kind?’ asked Fry, recalling that theatres came into the Brindleys’ lifestyle, along with restaurants and shopping.

‘Yes. I can tell you where she’s rehearsing, if you want to speak to her. I must warn you, she might be a bit distracted, though. She really gets into character, you know.’

Brindley laughed, showing a perfect set of teeth. Fry smiled politely, but she didn’t get the joke. Well, not until later.

While Fry was on the way back to Edendale, Murfin rang her mobile with a message. He sounded muffled, as though he’d started eating mince pies early. Fry fully expected to find the office carpet scattered with crumbs next time she went in.

‘Diane, there was a call for Ben Cooper,’ he said. ‘But he isn’t here, so I thought you ought to know about it.’

‘What, Gavin?’

‘The Garda Síochána have traced Martin Rourke.’

‘The Garda? So he’s back in Ireland then, just as Farnham thought he might be.’

‘Yes, he’s back on his home patch in Dublin. Running a souvenir business, apparently. Seems he’s given up manual labour and gone into the tourist industry.’

‘It’s where the money tends to be these days,’ said Fry. ‘It’s true here, and I’m sure it’s true in Ireland.’

As he was leaving The Oaks, Cooper found a small, elderly lady standing in the doorway of the dining room, supporting herself on a walking stick. She smiled at him as he passed.

‘Had a nice visit?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘You came to see Raymond.’

‘That’s right.’

Cooper was about to move away when he heard a voice in the back of his mind saying: ‘Talk to the old lady.’ And he stopped, and smiled.

‘I’m Mrs Greatorex,’ she said. ‘Annie Greatorex.’

‘Hello, Mrs Greatorex. Nice to meet you.’

‘He’s gone a bit ga-ga, hasn’t he? Raymond?’

‘Well …’