“Will they?” She seemed so clever. He knew he would trust her judgement. She had always protected him from unpleasantness. He stood up and wandered to the window. A pile of old annuals were stacked on the sill. Before he had started school Carolyn had read them all to him. Outside the policeman who had spoken to his parents appeared on the grass. Frightened, Peter turned back to the room and his cousin.

“Answer all the questions about finding Aunt Alice,” she said. “Tell them just what happened. That won’t matter. But when they ask you about last night, this is what you must say …”

She took his hand and pulled him close to her, so he could feel her fine hair on his cheek, then he listened carefully as she repeated her instructions.

Chapter Five

Ramsay had banned them all from the kitchen until it had been checked forensically. If Mrs. Parry had been stabbed, he said, the murderer might have gone into the kitchen to clean himself up. And the knife. They were to look for bloodstains on the floor and by the sink. Banished from the kitchen, Hunter took shelter in an open shed, which was attached to the house. Logs were stacked against one wall and there was a heavy saw hanging on a nail. Ramsay found him there, drinking tea from a flask with the civilian scene of crime officer. When the S.O. C.O. saw Ramsay, he melted into the garden and Hunter was left to explain.

“It’s bloody cold outside, sir,” he said. “You can’t blame him. The village P. C. is keeping an eye on the site.”

Ramsay said nothing and Hunter continued: “ He’s got a police house in the village. You’ll be welcome to use it as a base, he says.”

“Thank him,” Ramsay said. “ I’ll see him later.”

“Do you want some tea?”

Ramsay shook his head. “ I’ve finished with the Laidlaws now,” he said. “You can take their statements. Where’s Olive Kerr?”

“Upstairs in the bathroom, washing her face. She was a bit upset.”

Outside, the scene of crime officer was bending diligently over the body. Hunter had been right. It was very cold.

“Can you give me any information about the murder weapon yet?” Ramsay asked.

The man looked up, eager to be helpful.

“We’re looking for a smooth, wide-bladed knife, I think,” he said. “The sort you’d find in any kitchen for cutting meat. Something sturdy but not at all unusual.”

“Anything else of use?”

The man shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

Ramsay went back into the house and found Olive Kerr standing uncertainly in the hall. Her eyes were red from crying.

“Come on,” he said. “ I’ll walk you home.”

“I can’t believe it,” she cried. “I was here yesterday afternoon helping her get ready for the family. Now I’ll never see her again.”