As she approached the next junction, where a second right turn would take her back to the Corner House, she was strongly reminded of her walk with Grace. They had been coming the other way, but once into the next road, it was the exact same route as the two of them had taken. Thea recalled the painful shoulder, the naked fear every time a car went past, the total lack of any personal effects. Whatever the truth of the matter, those details were indisputable. If the post-mortem showed no significant damage to Grace’s shoulder, that didn’t prove that she was pretending. A wrench or strain would be difficult to detect without a far closer examination than the average pathologist had time for these days. If it bore no relation to the cause of death, then it was hardly significant anyway.

She kept walking briskly, her thoughts working in pace with her steps. But they merely went around in the same old circuit as before, the scraps of information refusing to fit together in anything like a coherent picture.

270It was only twenty minutes later that she arrived back at the house, having learnt nothing new, and failing to make any further deductions. It was still well short of midday and she had no desire for any more coffee. She was on the brink of deciding to do a second loop around the village when she noticed someone standing just inside the Corner House gateway.

‘Are you waiting for me?’ she asked, hurrying forward. The woman was familiar, but it took a moment to place her.

‘I am, actually. Remember we met on Monday?’

It was the friendly person with the camera, who had been recording wording from the headstones. ‘Oh – yes. In the churchyard. What can I do for you?’

‘Nothing. I just thought you might like to go for lunch or something. You seemed interesting, and when I realised you were still here, even after that awful business, it occurred to me you might like some company.’

Thea had learnt from hard experience that human motives were seldom as pure and straightforward as this sounded. But that was no reason to repel this cordial advance. If anything, it gave the whole encounter added spice. ‘How nice of you,’ she gushed. ‘I was just wondering how to pass the afternoon. My name’s Thea Slocombe, by the way.’ She held out her hand.

The woman took it in a firm grip. ‘Norma Chadwick. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Oh – not Jackson?’ said Thea. ‘I thought you were Richard’s wife.’

‘Whatever gave you that idea?’271

Thea reran the scene from Monday morning. ‘I don’t know. You looked like a team, I suppose. How embarrassing – especially these days. Just a quick assumption, on the basis of almost nothing.’

‘Well, we have known each other all our lives. I suppose there’s some sort of chemistry between us – body language. That kind of thing. But I have a husband called Bernie, and Richard’s got a disabled wife. We do a lot of family history together. Actually, we’re cousins, after a fashion. We share an ancestor – beyond that it all gets very complicated. But it’s not unusual, even now. There’s still a lot of old families here, and they’re all connected.’