“To give him time,” Elliot said. “And encouragement. She said he was bright. ‘He’s wasted at the garage,’ she said. ‘He should have a business of his own.’ I even thought of selling the post office to set him up. But then where would I live? It would have been different if Henshaw had decided to build the cheap houses. Mrs. Parry offered to talk to him, but when I told him he just laughed at me.”

From the other room there was a sudden, loud burst of music, then silence.

“Dad!” Charlie Elliot called. They heard his footsteps approaching the door. “What about some tea then?”

He pushed open the door and stood, just inside the kitchen, staring at Ramsay. His rudeness was deliberate and contrived, but it was the result, Ramsay thought, of insecurity. Throughout the interview the bravado hid considerable stress.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m a detective,” Ramsay said formally. “ I’m enquiring into the death of Alice Parry.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Charlie Elliot said. “ Someone’s been here already.” It was hard to tell that he had once been a soldier. He was overweight, unshaven. Ramsay was not surprised that Maggie found him unattractive.

“I know.”

“What are you doing here then?”

“Just a few more questions,” Ramsay said easily. “Routine.”

Fred Elliot had turned to the sink and was filling a kettle as his son had ordered. He clearly found the exchange embarrassing. Charlie sat on one of the chairs. “You’ll have to be quick,” he said. “I’ll have to be back at work soon. Tom Kerr’s a real slave driver.”

“Mrs. Parry received a threatening letter on the afternoon of her death,” Ramsay said. “ Did that have anything to do with you?”

“No,” Charlie Elliot said. “ I had my say at the meeting. What was in the letter?” He grinned unpleasantly and spread his stockinged feet towards the fire.

“It threatened to kill her.”

“She got what was coming to her then, didn’t she?”

“Charles!” Fred Elliot turned on his son. He was white-faced with anger. “I’ll not have that talk in my house. It’s indecent.”

The outburst shocked Charlie. He was unused to contradiction. He seemed confused and offended, like a spoilt child reprimanded in front of strangers.

“Where were you on Saturday evening?” Ramsay asked.

“I’ve already told that Hunter.”

“Tell me.”

“I was in the pub,” Charlie said. “ I always go to the pub on Saturday night. There was a darts match.”

“What time did you leave?”

“I don’t know. About quarter to eleven.”

“Wasn’t that unusual?” Ramsay asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you usually wait until Maggie had finished work?”

Charlie looked at Ramsay with deep hostility. “That’s none of your business.”

“I’m sorry,” Ramsay said. “ I’m afraid it is. Usually you waited until Maggie finished work and followed her home. What made that night different?”