‘No, I don’t think so. And now, if you don’t mind, you’ve probably wasted enough of my valuable time. Your call did actually interrupt a very good Netflix series I was watching.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jude said meekly. Carole gave her a look. She wouldn’t have apologized for something like that. ‘Sure there was nothing else?’ Jude pleaded.

‘Oh, I do remember something,’ said Tom. ‘Just as I was about to go home – walk back to Mrs Kendrick’s house, that is – Bill Shefford asked me if I could do something for him.’

‘What was it?’

‘Witness his signature on some document.’

‘What was the document?’ demanded Carole.

‘He didn’t show me. The paper was folded down, so I could just see where he signed.’

‘And you did it, you signed?’ asked Jude.

‘Yes. No skin off my nose.’

‘And what did he do then?’

‘He said he had to get another witness to sign.’

‘Did he say who?’

‘He didn’t say, but he went straight through to the office bit … you know, where Frankie sits and works out what colour she’s going to have her hair done and where she’ll have her next perforation.’

‘And she signed it?’ asked Jude breathlessly.

‘I assume so, yes.’

TWENTY

Because she had had more dealings with Frankie than Jude, it was Carole who made the call to Shefford’s. When she said she wanted to talk, she was told she was welcome to call at the garage whenever was convenient. When Carole added that she wanted to talk about Bill’s will and she wanted Jude to be with her, Frankie said they’d better come to her flat that evening. She didn’t bluster or deny she knew anything about the will, which Carole thought was promising.

She lived in Spray Lodge, an eight-storey block of flats near the Yacht Club, just where the River Fether met the sea. The properties on the shore side commanded magnificent views and prices to match. Frankie’s faced north and was on the ground floor. So potential views to the undulations of the South Downs were blocked by the backs of the shops on Fethering Parade.

Carole had been to Spray Lodge before, but a long time ago. She’d visited a rather poisonous old woman called Winnie Norton, whose son-in-law had died in suspicious circumstances. Winnie’s sea-view flat had been full of exquisite antiques. Frankie’s could not have been more different.

For a start, the whole place smelt of cigarettes. It was a long time since Carole or Jude had been inside a smoker’s home. They had both forgotten how pervasive that stench used to be.