‘You’re a carpenter?’ he asks Presley.

‘I am.’

‘And you knew Christianne?’

‘Yes. Lovely woman. She had a go at this once in sensible weather.’ He nods down at his board. ‘She did better than I thought. Dodgy balance but swam like a fish.’

Like a fish.

Mitch and I carry that thought back to the promenade and along to the beginnings of the coastal path as it rises towards the golf course. I explain in detail about the search mounted to try and find Christianne after McFaul had reported her missing.

‘But she hadn’t gone at all? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Yes. I didn’t think so at the time, but I was wrong. I took the man at his word, just like the police did. He was playing games. I’m guessing he wanted some kind of alibi.’

‘For what?’

‘For her death. No body. No clues.’

‘You think he killed her?’

‘I think he played a part. Is that the same thing? I gather the law says it is, more or less. McFaul’s disappeared now, I never mentioned that.’

‘Very wise. Do you know where he is?’

‘No. He was on police bail. One of the things he had to surrender was his passport.’

‘Are you in touch?’

‘No. McFaul has nerves of steel. I doubt any of us will ever see him again, least of all the police.’ I’m lying about McFaul, and I suspect Mitch knows it. Hours ago, back in the bungalow, I knew I’d sparked his interest, but now he’s definitely hooked. When he truly engages with a story, he has a habit of clamming up. No more small talk. No stream of consciousness.

By now we’re approaching the semicircle of police Do Not Cross tape that seals the path to the site of the cliff fall. A young PC stands in front of it, the collar of his high-vis jacket turned up against the first flurries of rain.

‘Any chance?’ Mitch shows him his Press Card.

‘None, sir, I’m afraid. Visits by appointment only.’

‘Who do I talk to?’

‘There’s a DC on the enquiry. Part of the Major Crimes team. Call the main force number and ask for DC Atkinson.’

‘I know Brett,’ I say at once. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.’

‘Brett?’ The young PC looks amused. ‘And you are?’

‘My name’s Andressen. Enora will do.’

‘Fine.’ The smile widens. ‘I’ll pass your compliments on.’

TWENTY-NINE

Disgruntled, Mitch steps back on to the coastal path and we trudge on. Soon, we’re walking beside the golf course, which is largely deserted.

‘It’s Christmas,’ I tell him. ‘I expect they’re all buying presents for their wives.’

‘Yeah?’ Mitch wants to know about my friend Bill. Might this be the moment for a surprise visit?