“He’s making your daughter’s life a misery,” she said. “ Is that right?”

He did not reply.

She clattered plates from the top of the oven onto the table and began to serve the meal.

“I’ll tell you something,” she said. “If you don’t sort out Charlie Elliot, Maggie will. And I’m frightened about what might happen. Alice Parry’s death has made terrible things seem possible.”

“You’re upset,” he said. He was relieved that she had returned to the subject of Alice Parry. He found that easier to deal with. “Of course you’re upset.”

She lost her grip on the knife she was holding and it slipped onto the table and then onto the floor, scratching a tile.

“Go and tell the boys to wash their hands,” she said. “Their dinner’s ready.”

He picked up the knife and went slowly out of the room.

Chapter Six

At the Tower the Laidlaws were preparing to leave for home. There was a pile of suitcases at the foot of the stairs. One of the twins was crying in a monotonous, exhausted way that seemed to get on all their nerves. Stella Laidlaw sat on the bottom step, clutching a fat handbag to her stomach, like a child with a favourite toy, only her eyes showing over the white collar of her sweater. Peter was asleep with his head on Carolyn’s knee, his face white and strained. They were waiting, it seemed, for Ramsay. Hunter had said that no-one could leave without his permission.

“We can’t face spending another night here,” James said. “I’m sure you can understand that, Inspector. The children need to be in their own homes.”

Ramsay looked at them. They were irritated by the delay but showed no other emotion. Do you really have no feelings? he thought. Or have you spent all your lives learning how not to express them? He raised no objections to their leaving. He was glad to see them go.

Hunter helped the Laidlaws to load the cars. He even stood awkwardly for a while with a baby in each arm. The wind was even colder, carrying flurries of snow, blowing scraps of garden waste across the lawn. As they watched, a square pink card flapped and lifted with the leaves then came to rest against the bumper of James’s car. Ramsay picked it up carefully by one corner and held it to show them. The card was damp and the corners of the letters were unstuck, but it was clearly Alice Parry’s anonymous letter.

“Where did this come from?” Ramsay turned on Hunter, aware as he spoke that his anger was unfair. It wasn’t Hunter’s fault. “I thought they’d searched the garden.”