‘Just answer the question, please.’

‘I was here, at home. On my own. As always.’

‘Your husband is …?’

She shook her head. ‘Andrew died in the war, I’m afraid.’

Latimer was taking notes. She said now, ‘So nobody can confirm where you were last night? Is that right?’

‘It seems that way. But I’ve already told you I didn’t kill Nicholas. I barely knew him at all, these days.’

Hobbes asked, ‘What about the man I saw at the funeral?’

‘You were …’

‘Who was he?’

‘You were at my father’s funeral? But why?’

‘The man at your side?’

‘That was David. My son.’

‘You brought him up on your own?’

‘I did. With a little help from the family.’

Latimer asked, ‘Could you let us have his address?’

‘Of course, but I can’t see what this—’

‘We’re making sure that all areas are covered.’

‘Right. I see. Yes.’ Mrs Kepple gave out her son’s address.

There was a pause. The room was very quiet. No clocks ticking, no sounds from any of the other rooms. Lace curtains covered the bottom half of the windows.

The outside world was shut away.

Only the occasional crackle of a piece of coal in the fireplace broke the calm.

Hobbes asked, ‘When did you last see your brother?’

‘At my father’s funeral. I came home straight after.’

‘There was no wake?’

‘No. For what purpose? We all went our separate ways.’

‘But you met up prior to the funeral, surely?’

‘Yes, Nick called me and told me of Father’s death. I came to Bridlemere the next day, and we consoled each other, as we could.’

‘Did you stay there?’

‘No. I drove back that evening. Nick was staying there. But we talked.’

Latimer asked, ‘Did Nicholas mention any worries?’

‘Of course. His father had just killed himself.’

‘Yes, but apart from that?’

‘No, not really. Not that I can recall. We went through the house together.’

‘Looking for?’

‘Nothing in particular. We spoke of childhood memories, of the games we used to play.’

‘Did you find a last will and testament?’

‘We did. Hidden among his papers. But it’s handwritten, and without witness. Our father distrusted all lawyers, solicitors, judges, any figure of authority. Even policemen.’ A smile aimed at Hobbes. ‘So I’m not sure what validity the document will hold.’

‘Do you have it with you?’

She sighed, then stood and walked to a chest of drawers in the corner of the room. ‘It really isn’t of much use.’

Hobbes took the piece of paper from her. It was a personal document, a few handwritten lines in blue ink.

I, Leonard Graves, of sound or sound enough mind, leave all my worldly goods to my daughter Camilla, to do with as she sees fit, for the good of the family.

It was dated 2 June 1967. Then a gap, and in the same handwriting but a different colour of blue, it said:

Nothing to Nicholas or Rosamund. They have taken Mary Estelle from me.