‘I knew Wendy,’ Joan suddenly said out of nowhere. The three people sat at the table looked up at her with disbelief. ‘Although that was when she was Wendy Connor, before she married. She worked here for a few summers when she left school. Lovely girl she was. So polite.’

‘When was that?’ Palmer’s pen hovered over his note pad.

‘Now let me see…’ Joan stood leaning on her hip and cocked her head to one side while searching her memory. ‘Must have been around ninety-six, ninety-seven, something like that. She worked in the kitchen as a pot washer.’

Palmer nodded wanting to encourage her. This was the link they’d been looking for. He’d never have guessed it would have come from this unassuming bartender.

‘I can’t say for certain, but I think it was around then. There’ll be records of her employment somewhere in the system, I imagine,’ Joan said turning to Tim, who was looking at her with rage.

‘We’ve had lots of temps come and go over the years. I can’t be expected to remember all their damn names.’ It was clear to Palmer and Elly that he hadn’t been trying to hide anything, he’d simply forgotten, and given that over twenty years had passed it wasn’t that surprising.

Palmer sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Rather than dislike Tim he decided, in fact, that he felt sorry for him. What sort of man remains in the same dead-end job for over twenty years? It was obvious that Tim Boyd was happy being a big fish in a small pond and Palmer wondered if there would ever be room for any other fish at all.

‘We’ll need to see employment records and anything else you have relating to Wendy Matlock – or Wendy Connor, as she was then – Dennis Wade or Eddie Kilpatrick.’

‘I think I’ve made it clear that I’m happy to assist you.’ Tim straightened in his seat, his large belly resting on his thighs.

‘I’ll need to take your name and contact details, please, Joan?’ Elly requested.

‘Sure thing, love.’ Joan nodded and smiled revealing tobacco stained teeth.

She looked like a badly-aged silver service waitress with her white shirt and black trousers. Elly found herself wondering if Joan had worked at the golf club as long as Tim Boyd had.

‘Can you tell us if there were ever any issues at the club? Any arguments? Did Wendy, Dennis or Eddie ever fall out with anyone?’

‘Why are you asking about Eddie?’ Tim suddenly said narrowing his eyes.

‘I’m not at liberty to divulge that information at this time.’ Palmer brushed some imaginary fluff off his trousers casually.

‘Three fingers. Three bodies,’ the large man said to himself hoisting his weight up out of the seat. ‘You can count on my discretion.’