“It might be considered a suspicious coincidence,” Ramsay said. “The two people in the village who opposed your plans most vehemently are dead. I suppose that’s convenient for you.”

“Look,” Henshaw said. “I’m a powerful man. I can get my own way without resorting to violence.”

“But that wasn’t the case in the past, was it?” Ramsay said. “I’ve been hearing rumours that you used to find violence rather useful.”

“I’ve been convicted of nothing,” Henshaw said. “You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”

“Perhaps not,” Ramsay said. “ I have some good news for you. Your story about Saturday night has been confirmed. We know Mrs. Parry was alive when she left you. She was seen in the pub late that night.”

“There you are then,” Henshaw said. “What did I tell you? This business has nothing to do with me.” It seemed to Ramsay that he was too relieved. “Now perhaps you’ll leave me and my wife alone.”

“Of course,” Ramsay said. “ We don’t intend to intrude.” He paused. “Are you sure you didn’t leave your house after Mrs. Parry went to the pub on Saturday night?”

Henshaw was suddenly furious. “ What do you mean?” he cried. “What’s she been saying?”

“Who?” Ramsay asked mildly. “What’s who been saying?”

“Have you been to my house again,” Henshaw demanded, “talking to my wife without my permission?”

“No,” Ramsay said. “ I’ve not been to your home. Do you think Mrs. Henshaw has some information that might be useful?”

“No,” Henshaw said. “ This is all a waste of time.” He turned on Ramsay. “You should have stopped those women from bothering me. This is my land. That’s what we pay you for.”

“Oh,” Ramsay said, “I should have thought you could handle them.” He was about to return to the subject of Henshaw’s movements on Saturday night, but the builder interrupted him.

“And it’s not only them.” He nodded towards the gaggle of women disappearing up the street. “That reporter from the Express phoned me up this morning. Could she come to see me? she asked. She’s doing an article on local businessmen. Like hell you are, I told her. Sod off and bother some other bugger. I’ll get the police on you for harassment.”

Ramsay knew Henshaw was trying to distract him, to stop him from following up the questions about Saturday night, but he was interested all the same.

“Which reporter?” he asked, though he knew the answer already.

“Raven,” Henshaw said. “They call her Mary Raven.”

Of course, Ramsay thought. It always comes back to her.

She was the vital link between all of the major suspects in the case.

“If she gets in touch with you again,” Ramsay said, “ will you let me know?”

Henshaw nodded. He had recovered his composure and Ramsay allowed him to turn and walk away to the surveyors, then went back to the Castle to collect his car.