Limmington sat back in his chair and relaxed. This woman had a point. He could nail Cavanagh like Christ on the cross. This woman could be told what to say, carefully coached. She could put the Cavanagh woman away for a long time. He was disgusted with himself for the thoughts he was having, but the desire, the absolute need, to put away the twins and their aunt was stronger than his innate honesty.

‘When did these murders take place?’

‘In the twenties. I was a girl then. I’m younger than Cavanagh, believe it or not, but I ain’t had the advantages she’s had, have I? I never was a girl who would flog me arse for a price.’

The last was said with an air of righteousness that made Limmington want to say: ‘Anyone who’d pay to have sex with you would have to be mentally unstable!’

But he didn’t. Instead he smiled kindly.

He sat forward and grinned. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Thompkins?’

‘I would, and a few sandwiches and all if you can arrange it. I’m so hungry I could eat a scabby horse between two mattresses.’

Limmington felt his smile sliding once more and tried valiantly to keep it in place. ‘We’re fresh out of horse. Would ham and tomato be all right?’

The old woman laughed then.

‘Anything, my lovely. Long as it’s edible. Then me and you can get down to business.’

Isabel Dumas was knitting. She seemed to spend her life knitting or embroidering. It seemed to her she would be lost without something in her hands. Her grand-daughter Natalie was due at five, and she wanted to get the back of the cashmere jumper finished by then.

She glanced at the clock and sighed. It was just after one. Her eyes turned to the telephone and she itched to pick it up and ring Benedict, but didn’t. The atmosphere was strained between them these days. The past was always there. Always.

She heard the tap on her door and called out: ‘Come in, Catriona.’

A woman of uncertain years entered the room and bobbed a small curtsy.

‘There’s a lady to see you, mam, says to give you her card.’

Isabel took the small white card and as she looked at it she blanched.

‘Show the woman in, Catriona.’ The maid walked from the room, puzzled. The lady was very well dressed but her speech was at odds with her appearance. She sounded a low sort.

‘Hello, Isabel.’

She looked at Briony and was half pleased to see her. The effect of age, she mused. Faces from the past were welcome. Only she couldn’t welcome Briony, she couldn’t.

‘What do you want?’

Briony shook her head as Isabel barked out the words.

‘What do you think?’