‘A woman.’ Francesca was rehashing the details of Dennis’s murder through her mind. How he had been hanged, the fact his finger had been cut off. It was horrific but the thought that the same thing had happened to a woman, even if she was a stranger, made her stomach turn. ‘Was she killed in the same way?’ Francesca had to know.

Veronica simply nodded while her sister shut her eyes trying to block the awful thoughts and images from entering her head.

‘Andrew,’ Francesca said all of a sudden.

Veronica turned to face her sister with a perplexed look on her face. ‘He wouldn’t.’ But all of a sudden, she didn’t feel so sure.

‘He’s in big trouble this time. This isn’t smoking marijuana or beating up some man in a pub. This is serious.’

‘It was serious when Dennis died.’ Veronica reminded Francesca, and picked at some fluff on the side on the armchair she was sat in.

‘But that was a crime of passion,’ Francesca suggested. ‘This is something else.’

‘He didn’t do this.’ Veronica shook her head and got up, putting distance between herself and her sister. ‘You may not believe him, but I expect you to believe me. Andrew had nothing to do with this. You’ll see.’

‘The only way that can ever be proved is if he hands himself in or the police catch him. As long as he is on the run it doesn’t look good. You must see that?’

‘I am going to respectfully ask you to drop it.’ Veronica glared at her sister. ‘He is my son. Remember that.’

Francesca, who was not used to having Veronica stand up for herself, pursed her lips and nodded. Veronica could request that she remained silent, but she did not – and would not – control what Francesca thought; and Francesca was still convinced that Andrew had something to do with the murders. Veronica had always been naïve and this, in Francesca’s mind, only went further to prove it.

‘I fancy some fresh air,’ Francesca called out to her sister as she slipped on her coat and slammed the front door shut. She was angry that after everything she’d done for Veronica, she was being treated so badly and opted to spend time wandering around the cold empty village rather than be inside with her sister in the warm.

As she made her way, slowly and carefully, along the slushy streets of the village, Francesca found herself thinking about Andrew. She couldn’t understand where his life had gone so wrong. He had been a happy boy, loved by his parents. It was true that Dennis had never been especially good with his son but equally he’d never done anything to hurt him. It simply didn’t make any sense.