‘You mean John? Come on, Gavin, you just didn’t like him because you thought he was gay.’

‘What if he was?’ protested Murfin. ‘I don’t judge people like that. Well, not any more. I’ve done the course.’

‘Yeah, right. You’ve learned not to say out loud what you’re thinking, that’s all.’

Murfin sniffed, but didn’t deny it.

‘Besides,’ he said, ‘you don’t have to be gay to admire my tie.’

‘No, just colour blind.’

‘Well, did you like him?’ asked Murfin.

‘He was a bit odd, I suppose.’

‘Two sandwiches short of a picnic, more like.’

Fry sighed. ‘Is it getting near lunchtime by any chance?’

‘Well, now you mention it –’

‘All right, all right.’

Fry knew when to give in to necessity. She couldn’t understand the way Gavin lived to eat, instead of the other way round.

Sometimes she thought that most of the people around her had life upside down, or back to front. Take the Lowthers, for instance – they had a garden full of furniture, and a house full of plants. Something wrong there, surely?

In Foxlow, a police patrol arrived outside the gates of Bain House at about a quarter past one that afternoon. Thirteen sixteen hours, according to the incident log. PC Andy Myers pressed the intercom button on the gatepost a few times, but got no response.

‘Maybe it’s not working,’ said his partner.

‘I can hear it buzzing.’

‘Well, Control can’t give us a phone number for her.’

‘She must be ex-directory.’

‘So what do we do, then?’

Myers looked at the wrought-iron gates and the stone pillars on either side. ‘One of us has to get his arse over these gates. There should be a release on the other side. Mind the spikes when you get on top, Phil. They look lethal.’

‘Oh, thanks a lot. Don’t strain yourself, will you?’

‘I’m the driver. I have to stay with the car.’

Myers watched his partner struggle over the gates, grumbling all the way as he tried to avoid ripping his uniform or impaling his hand on a spike. Finally, his boots crunched down on to gravel at the other side and he found the release button to open the gates.

‘The bloke who phoned in was a farmer name of Cross,’ said Myers from the window of the car. ‘He says there’s a bedroom window open round the back somewhere, and a light on.’

‘Why didn’t he climb over the bloody gate, then?’

‘Him? He’ll be long gone, ploughing his sheep or something.’

‘You don’t get out into the country much, do you, Andy?’

The two officers went up to the front door and knocked. They still got no reply. Myers began to walk round the side of the house.

‘Yes, I can see the open window,’ he called. ‘I’m trying the back door.’

‘Anything?’

‘No.’