Hurrying, despite the fact that there was almost certainly no reason to hurry, and quite a good reason—in the shape of an armed murderer—to want to avoid being first on the scene, Liza and Hanna stumbled down the bank towards the wood, holding onto one another to keep from falling, or at least to make sure that if one fell, both would.

When they reached the loch, they collided with the two men they’d seen from the hotel. One, it turned out, was Professor Worth, shivering in a deep purple overcoat. The other was the vicar. Up close, he was taller than Liza might have expected—not that there was a height limit for clergy. He had a sort of ranginess to him that looked out of place as well, but maybe she was just unfairly applying Ruby’s warning to an innocent man of the cloth.

“You heard it too, I assume,” the vicar said.

Liza nodded. “I think it came from down here? It’s hard to tell with the echoes.”

“It’s where I’d bring somebody if I was going to shoot them.” It wasn’t a comment Liza expected from a man whose work outfit included a dog collar, but then again, her job-slash-hobby was talking about serial killers, so she wasn’t really in a place to judge.

“Ditch the body in the woods, sling the gun in the loch?” she suggested.

The vicar nodded. “The professor and I were in the library,” he explained, “when we heard.”

“It’s extremely concerning,” added Professor Worth. “First, people falling off balconies; now gunfire. And poor Mrs Ackroyd, she’s taken the whole thing quite to heart.”

Hanna gave him a sceptical look. “Well, I mean, her husband died, so yes?”

“Oh, but it’s not just that.” The professor’s eyes were wide behind his glasses. “It’s this beastly Belloc fellow. She’s quite convinced he suspects her.”

“Well, he’d have to, wouldn’t he?” Liza wasn’t especially happy to be casting aspersions on a grieving woman. “He was pushed from their balcony, and it really is usually the spouse.”

The professor simpered. “I know. Statistically that’s certainly true, but … well … one doesn’t like to think it, does one?”

The four of them had been talking for long enough that fresh snowfall was already beginning to cover their footprints, and so when they arrived at last at the copse, they approached over pristine white ground. The snow-cover faded as they reached the trees—conifers, and quite densely packed—which meant Sir Richard and his aunt were quite close before Liza noticed them.

“Afternoon, ladies.” Sir Richard tipped an imaginary hat. “Professor, Vicar. Dashed bad business this, what?”

“Oh, extremely dashed,” agreed Hanna. “So, are we intending to just wander aimlessly around a small woodland until somebody shoots at us?”