Jude’s finger continued running down the lines and flicking on to the next page. The finger stopped. ‘Now that one’s different.’

Carole peered across to read, under the pencilled crossing-out: ‘17 October 10.15 a.m. MOT.’

‘That’s not strange. The diary’s full of dates for MOTs. He kept a record of when his customers’ MOTs were due. It was part of the Shefford’s service. He always rang me about the Renault.’

‘Yes, but none of the other MOT references have got times on them. Just dates.’

‘So? One of his customers was pernickety about the time of day he or she could bring the car in – or have it picked up. There’s nothing more to it than that, Jude.’

‘I wonder …’

‘There really isn’t.’ Carole looked at her watch and went all Carole Seddon. ‘It’s nearly midnight. I don’t think we’re going to work this out now. Are we?’

‘No, probably not,’ Jude admitted in a tone of disappointment.

‘So, let’s try again in the morning. When our minds are fresher.’

‘All right,’ Jude conceded grudgingly. ‘First thing?’

‘Well, not my “first thing”. Gulliver and I will be down on the beach by seven.’

‘After that then?’

‘No. Tomorrow’s the day I do my monthly shop for non-perishable items at the Sainsbury’s in Rustington.’ (Some rituals of Carole Seddon’s life could not be changed for mere murder investigations.)

‘When will you be through with that?’

‘Let’s say half past ten.’

‘Come round to me for coffee when you get back.’

‘Very well, Jude. And now I’m afraid—’

‘Ooh, do you mind if I take the diary?’ Carole’s expression suggested that she really did mind. ‘You won’t have a chance to look at it if you’re dog walking and Sainsburying, will you?’

Carole was forced to concede she wouldn’t. And on that, Jude finally took the hint and left. With the precious diary.

And with both of them wondering what on earth ‘H’ stood for.

TWENTY-TWO

Jude was still deeply asleep the following morning when her neighbour and Gulliver strode past Woodside Cottage on their way to Fethering Beach. Carole was limping more. Perhaps it was the angle at which she’d slept. Oh dear, she’d hoped she was too young to have arthritis.

Jude didn’t have any clients booked in for the morning, so she made her getting-up routine more elaborate than usual. The eight o’clock cup of tea under the duvet was followed by half an hour’s meditation before a bath with essential oils and scented candles. Then breakfast of coffee and toast slathered with butter and honey.

But this was not mere self-indulgence. Jude needed her mind to be relaxed and ready. That morning she knew she had to think.

She wanted to have clarified her own ideas on the case before Carole joined her.