It’s lunchtime now, and I’ve anticipated this. On Evelyn’s recommendation, we drive to a pub called the Drewe Arms in Broadhembury. Christmas is getting closer by the day and the bar is a riot of decorations, tinsel, and a big cardboard reindeer where locals are encouraged to leave presents for the staff. While Mitch finds a discreet table for two, I join the crowd at the bar and order a Guinness and a small glass of Merlot. By the time I join Mitch, he’s got hold of a menu, and settled on hake and chips.

‘So are they at it? Nathan and that crazy woman?’ Conversationally, Mitch has no time for foreplay.

‘It’s possible, I suppose, but I doubt it.’

‘He’s married? Nathan?’

‘Separated. He told me his wife’s gone back to London. Never quite kicked the habit.’

‘Budleigh didn’t do it for her?’

‘Not at all. Though I get the impression Nathan doesn’t much care. Evelyn thinks he plays the field. He’s got the money and he can be charming when it suits him so she’s probably right.’

‘And Beth?’

‘Beth’s in a seller’s market. Presley does her very nicely indeed. Fit young man? Budleigh’s trophy windsurfer? Just what she needs.’

Mitch is smiling. To my surprise, he seems to be warming to the soapier end of Budleigh Salterton.

‘Life’s a fucking game, isn’t it? Even down here.’

‘Especially down here. These people have time and money. Bill Penny told me that was the most dangerous combination in the world, and he’s probably right.’

Mitch mentions a man called Harry Lupitt.

‘Know him at all?’ he asks.

‘No.’

‘I met him at the golf club. Interesting bloke. Can’t stand our Nathan.’

‘Interesting how?’

‘He used to be a commander in the Met Police. Only retired a couple of years ago. His favourite detective superintendent joined the Devon and Cornwall lot, and now runs one of their Major Crime outfits. Thanks to him, Harry’s up to speed on this Bulldog thing. He says they’re concentrating on access.’

‘To?’

‘The clifftop. They think the coffin probably came over the golf course. In some kind of van, obviously.’

I nod, remembering the broad green spread of the golf course we’d seen from the aircraft. I’ve walked up the coastal path enough times to imagine how tough it would be to carry a coffin up there. Using a van to cross the golf course would be the obvious solution.

‘I get the impression they think the grave was pre-dug.’ Mitch hasn’t finished. ‘Once you get to the edge of the golf course it’s obviously a carry, but with enough help that wouldn’t have been a problem. Apparently there’s a DI who’s been driving Bulldog from the off, complete nutter, total obsessive, won’t leave it alone.’