Standing next to it was the wheelie suitcase in which George carried his samples. The sergeant laid it flat on the floor and unzipped it. Inside she saw some jeans and a heavy jersey, a pair of walking boots and a waterproof jacket.

‘But where are the books?’ Kate couldn’t help herself.

‘What books?’ The sergeant looked up. He was still kneeling on the floor. He frowned a little.

‘He carries books in the suitcase. Samples to show the shopkeepers.’

The detective said nothing. He began opening the drawers, but all George’s clothes were still in the holdall. Joe Ashworth emptied that carefully, laying each item on the bed, but it seemed there was nothing of interest to him. He looked in the bathroom, before turning back to Kate. ‘That’s been very helpful. Thank you.’ His face gave nothing away. She wanted to ask if they thought George was a murderer.

‘I have children,’ she said. ‘A daughter. Is it safe to let Mr Enderby stay here tonight?’ She could hear the hysteria in her own voice.

There was only a moment of hesitation before he replied. ‘We have no evidence against Mr Enderby. We think he can help us with our enquiries.’

She didn’t find that reassuring.

At the bottom of the stairs the detective held out his hand and thanked her again. He could have been one of her paying guests.

Stuart was still in the kitchen. He’d heard Kate come down the stairs and already had the coffee machine on again. ‘What was all that about?’ He didn’t look at her as he asked the question and she couldn’t tell how curious he really was.

‘The police. They wanted to look inside George’s room.’

‘Did you let them?’ Now he did turn to look at her.

‘Yes.’ She wondered now if she’d been a coward not to stand up to them. ‘If it helps find the killer . . .’ Her voice trailed away.

‘You think George could be the murderer?’ Stuart waited for her to answer and she saw that this wasn’t an idle question. She recognized the teacher in him. He’d use the same tone standing in front of his class. Is that really how you think that piece should be played? He seemed unusually serious.

She took his question seriously too. ‘No,’ she said at last, because despite her earlier misgivings and the hesitation in the detective’s voice, it was impossible to think of quiet and gentle George Enderby hurting anyone. She’d seen him open a window to allow a wasp to escape. ‘What reason would George have for killing Margaret? And he’d have hardly known Dee Robson. Unless she’d tried to pick him up in the Coble.’

‘What do you mean?’ Stuart frowned.