Leaving Veronica still frantically searching, she went into the small hallway and answered the phone.

‘Wade residence.’ The fact that she sounded like Hyacinth Bucket, from Keeping Up Appearances, was entirely lost on her but not on Palmer.

‘DI Palmer.’

‘Inspector. It’s Francesca Woodcock. How can I help you?’

‘We’d like to come over and speak to Mrs Wade, please. Is now a good time?’

Francesca stared through the doorway at Veronica who had collapsed in a heap on the sofa and was sobbing.

‘I’ll have her ready for you.’ She sighed, wanting to hang up and attend to her sister.

‘Thank you. See you in twenty minutes,’ he said before ending the call.

Veronica was still huddled in a ball crying. She barely noticed when Francesca came back into the room.

‘DI Palmer is on his way. He wants to talk to you.’ Francesca stood over her sister unable to comfort her. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up. We can’t have the inspector seeing you in this state.’

Francesca had seen Veronica distraught over the last few days but what she witnessed that afternoon was something entirely different. Struggling to know what to do to help calm her, Francesca decided that the only thing to do was to give her sister a large measure of whisky. Much to her surprise and relief it seemed to do the trick; so, when Palmer arrived, fifteen minutes later, Veronica was in a much more suitable state.

‘Mrs Wade.’ The DI extended his hand and shook Veronica’s warmly. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see us at such short notice.’

Elly, who stood next to Palmer, offered a small awkward smile. She wondered if she’d ever get used to dealing with relatives of murder victims. In one way she hoped she wouldn’t.

Veronica, who stayed mute, showed them into the kitchen where Francesca was preparing a pot of tea.

‘Your garden looks very pretty in the snow,’ Elly commented while looking through the window as large light flakes tumbled down from the sky.

‘Dennis was the gardener,’ Veronica said numbly.

‘Tea anyone?’ Francesca smiled brightly, placing the teapot down on the table.

‘I am sorry to do this, but I need to talk to you about your son,’ Palmer said as he accepted the floral cup and saucer foisted upon him.

Francesca tutted as she poured tea into his cup.

‘Have you found him?’ The hope in Veronica’s eyes was heartbreaking.

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘Well what then?’ Francesca was nothing if not to the point.

‘I need to ask you about an argument Andrew had with his father in November.’

Hearing those words, Veronica’s heart sank. ‘You mean about the bail money?’

‘Yes.’ He did not enjoy the fact he was inflicting more pain on an already broken woman. ‘Did you know that your husband had refused to give Andrew money?’