‘You were – at the funeral of Mr Graves. I saw you.’

‘I wasn’t chasing you.’

‘You gave me a fright, you did! I thought you were, you know, a perv, like.’

‘Oh, Christ.’

Latimer smiled. ‘Yeah. Believe me, he really isn’t.’

‘I can see that now, looking at him.’ She was examining Hobbes from head to foot. ‘He’s just, like, normal.’

She made it sound worse than being a perv, somehow or other.

‘Mind you, that scar’s quite interesting.’

He touched his face, the movement unbidden. ‘OK, can we just get on with this, please?’

‘You don’t have a ciggie, do you?’ She took the gum out of her mouth and squashed it on the underside of the table. ‘Only, Leonard used to let me smoke in here. Mum’s not so keen.’

‘Joan?’

‘Yeah?’ She turned to Latimer.

‘We have some questions to ask you.’

‘Right. Fire away.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Eighteen.’

‘And you used to come round here quite often, is that right?’

‘Sure, yeah, now and then. I liked Mr Graves. He was interesting, you know? Like, he’d written plays, and directed them, and all that. I’d like to be an actress one day. Can you imagine it, walking on stage and every single person watching you? Oh, my God, how cool would that be? Or a writer. That would be neat, like making up stories and things.’

‘Joan!’ Latimer put an edge in her voice.

The girl took a breath. ‘Sorry, I chatter. Never know what else to do.’

‘When did you start visiting Mr Graves?’

‘A year ago, maybe more. My mum used to come here once a week, to give it a bit of a clean, and to make sure the old codger was all right. Well, I came along with her one time, and I got talking to him while she was upstairs, and it turns out he wasn’t just some old codger. He told me the story of how he got his first play put on, how he waited outside the stage door of the Savoy Theatre for two and a half hours in the wind and rain, oh, my God, waiting for Terence Rattigan to come out – that’s another playwright, by the way, I learned that. Anyway, Leonard thrust his playscript into Terence’s hands—’

‘Excuse me.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Sorry, love, but we need to keep on track.’

‘Right, of course. So, yeah, that’s how I got started on coming round. In secret, mind. My mum wouldn’t like it, if she knew … You’re not going to tell her, are you?’

‘No, it’s nothing to do with her.’

‘You’re right there. Nosy old bat.’

Hobbes watched all this from across the room, holding his tongue.

Latimer leaned back in her chair. She waited a moment before asking her next question. ‘Joan, where did you get the dress from?’

‘Where do you think?’

‘You stole it?’

‘What? No. Who do you think I am? My own mum, always rooting around for what she can find? Yuck, no. Mr Graves gave it to me. Honest, it’s true, swear to God. It was a gift.’