‘Do you know what a Judas Horse is?’ Charlotte asked as she buckled the bridle into place. ‘When the wild mustangs are running free, you corral one and train it. It can take weeks, even months, but when he’s ready, you can release him and he’ll bring his team back into the corral like Judas betraying them.’ Charlotte looked thoughtfully at Judas. ‘We’re waiting for the vet to come and give him his regular medical. He’s not yet as strong as he should be. But he’s getting there. Shall we go for some tea? Annie will have the kettle on.’

In the kitchen, Annie did indeed have tea on the go. Hunks of white bread were roughly cut and laid out waiting to be smothered in homemade jam or honey. Jack declined, but Oaks tucked in. ‘Annie makes the most amazing bread,’ he said, cramming in a huge mouthful.

Once the niceties were done, Jack asked Charlotte about Eloise Fullworth.

‘Mrs Fullworth is one of my clients.’ Charlotte was candid about how well she knew the family. She answered quickly, without pausing, which suggested she wasn’t thinking about what might be the best thing to say. This told Jack that she probably had nothing to hide. ‘I do her garden; keep it tidy, that sort of thing. I change plants I think need changing, trim what I think needs trimming; she lets me decide. I do one afternoon a week for her. Tuesdays normally, but that can shift depending on when Maisie’s home. When Maisie’s there, it’s their time. Mrs Fullworth is very protective.’ When Jack asked what Maisie was like, Charlotte suggested that she was probably much stronger than her mother gave her credit for.

Jack went on to ask more generally about Charlotte’s clients. ‘I meet the staff at residential properties,’ she explained. ‘But the rentals tend to bring their own people with them, and they rarely use me as they don’t stay long enough. The full-time staff are often Eastern European. Lovely. Well, I like them. Not that I’d be able to spot a wrong-un if they were standing in front of me, I don’t suppose. I can spot a bad horse from a good one a mile away, but people . . . I’m sorry but I’m not much use to you, DI Warr.’

*

Back in the squad room at Chipping Norton, all six of Gifford’s officers were now at their desks, eating the cold breakfasts they’d been bought hours earlier. One of the men who’d been out and about re-questioning victims had brought back a Tupperware box full of scones from old Mr and Mrs Gaddas. He’d also been provided with a jar of jam and a tub of clotted cream. Mrs Gaddas was housebound due to illness, but she was still able-bodied and loved baking for visitors.