‘Nothing obvious, apart from some junk mail. God knows why she kept that. But it looks as though she might have joined some online groups, because there were different aliases and screen names. It seems Rose Shepherd did have a social life, of a kind. But it was all online.’

‘By the way, I’ve got the package that the postman was trying to deliver,’ said Cooper. ‘It isn’t all that big, but it’s heavy for its size.’

‘Open it up. But be careful.’

When the cardboard packaging came off, they were looking at three books from an internet bookseller. Maeve Binchy, Danielle Steele, Josephine Cox.

‘Does that give us any clues?’ asked Hitchens.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Cooper. ‘I once saw a Muslim woman in full chador buying a Danielle Steele novel in a supermarket, so I don’t think we can make any assumptions.’

‘The only surprise to me is that she ordered three books at once, since it meant they wouldn’t go into her letter box,’ said Fry.

‘Maybe they were on special offer,’ said the DI, moving away to answer his phone.

Fry waited for a quiet moment, then approached him between calls.

‘Sir, I’m going to need to review the house fire enquiry. You know, the triple death?’

‘Not now, Diane.’

‘But –’

‘Well, not unless you have firm evidence of malicious intent. Do you?’

‘No, sir. Not yet.’

‘Come back to me when you do, then.’

Fry bit her lip. She obviously wasn’t going to get a look-in on the Rose Shepherd enquiry. She was too junior in this company. But she had an enquiry of her own that she could make a mark with – if she could find the time to work it properly. The Darwin Street fire was low priority until malicious intent was proved. But there were ways around that problem.

She went outside and found Gavin Murfin. Ben Cooper would have been more useful, but his absence was likely to be noticed, so Murfin would have to do.

‘Ah, Gavin, you’re not doing very much,’ she said, taking hold of his arm and steering him towards her car.

‘Well, actually –’

‘Good. You’re with me.’

Somehow, Murfin had obtained a pork pie, which he was eating out of a paper bag. He’d got into the habit of bringing food with him if he thought he was going to be away from civilization for a few hours.

‘But if you drop bits of that pie in my car, Gavin, you know what’ll happen. And it won’t be pretty.’

Fry had to negotiate the lines of vehicles in Pinfold Lane to find somewhere to turn round. The only space was the entrance to the Birtlands’ driveway.