I checked the day of the murder, and was surprised to see Alex’s name on there as well. But of course, that was why Sam was with him and why Anna was alone in the house that night, or why she was possibly free to have someone over. Since Anna had been killed first thing in the morning, or very late at night, I looked at the day before too. Two names, an Alison Harper at 11 a.m. and a Don at 3 p.m. No surname for him, and I felt frustration rise in me. Had the police looked into this, or did they think they already had their killer, so no need to look further? I peered closer – also on the calendar square for that day, right at the bottom, was a small asterisk in blue pen. Did that mean anything? Could have been her period, but would she have marked that on a family calendar? I hadn’t known her well enough to say. Then I caught sight of the name of the garage that had produced the calendar, a generic series of lake views – Don Samson Motors. Could it really be that simple? Was he a massage client, or had she just taken her car in for a tune-up?

With my sleeve over my hand, I opened a few drawers but found nothing of interest, just piles of odd screws and spare light bulbs, books of matches. I looked at those in case there was another convenient clue, but they were all just from local businesses or bought in the supermarket. Nothing else. The fridge was full of wine and kids’ smoothies, microwave meals and the remains of takeaways, going off now. Clearly Anna hadn’t liked cooking much. The kitchen had a large stone fireplace in it, and I noticed a corner of this was taped off with police markers. What did that mean – had they found something there?

I shut the fridge with my elbow and moved into the bedroom. Anna’s and Alex’s bedroom, it had been, and I was surprised to see men’s things still in there, one side of the wardrobe full of suits and jeans. Alex’s, presumably. It made me uncomfortable, the sense that their marriage was not as over, as I’d imagined, that I’d been sleeping with a man who was still heavily involved with his wife. On one bedside table was hand cream, tissues, a sleep mask, a paperback novel I’d read myself and enjoyed. A bookmark near the end – she would never finish it now. On the other, a lamp, a book about Churchill. Likely the police had also taken some items away to test – I could see some dusty spaces – and I had no idea what else might have been here.