Latimer touched the woman’s arm gently. ‘That’s fine, Caroline. We’re just trying to work it out.’

‘It’s like a puzzle? Right. Yes, I see.’

Hobbes nodded. ‘We’re trying to work out why Mr Graves laid the dress out like this, with the tear in the cloth, and the blood spread on it.’

That final statement shocked her. Her eyes darted back to the dress on the floor and she shivered despite herself. ‘You mean that’s blood?’

‘It is. Probably from Mr Graves’s arm.’

Caroline raised a hand to her mouth. ‘This must be …’ She hesitated.

Hobbes took a step closer. ‘Do you know why he killed himself?’

‘Because … because of his wife. I don’t know. I’m only guessing. Because …’

‘His wife died?’ Latimer asked. ‘Is that it?’

Caroline Travis turned to her. ‘No. No, she was taken away. A few years ago now. You know … He never got over it. Never.’

‘Put in a home, you mean?’

Mrs Travis nodded vigorously, not wanting to say any more.

Hobbes and Latimer caught each other’s eye. Latimer shrugged. Then she turned back to the neighbour. ‘What can you tell us about Mr Graves, Caroline?’

‘I didn’t really know him, not as such.’

‘Was he reclusive?’

‘Oh, yes, very much so.’

‘Since his wife went away?’

‘Yes, but before that, even, the two of them together. Well, we hardly saw hide or hair of them from one day to the next. A woman used to come round, a care assistant, for a while. But then …’

Hobbes urged her on. ‘What happened?’

‘Mr Graves just sort of gave up, I guess. He didn’t want anything to do with anyone, and he stopped letting the care assistant in. That’s when … Well, that’s when I took over. You have to do your bit, don’t you, for those less fortunate?’

Latimer smiled and nodded as the neighbour rattled on.

‘The poor man. He lived on the ground floor most of the time. He slept on a bed in the next room – you’ll have seen that, right? But once I found him halfway up the stairs, struggling, panting for breath. So I know he went up there, still. Things were often moved around in the upper rooms.’

Hobbes frowned. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the house, the atmosphere, the murky light and the countless rooms, like a series of chambers in a mausoleum, or even an overgrown doll’s house. This wasn’t a place where happiness dwelled. It was too cold, too self-enclosed.

And right there and then he understood what his wife Glenda wanted from him: she wanted a divorce. That had to be it.

Cold house, cold rooms. The heart shut up, tightening …

‘Sir?’

It was Latimer, nudging at him.

‘Right, yes.’ He opened his eyes. ‘Just a few more questions, Mrs Travis.’

‘Of course. I’ll do all I can to help.’

‘Did Mr and Mrs Graves have any children that you know of?’

‘I’ve seen a few people visit, now and then, over the years. Relatives, I suppose. But we were never introduced.’