‘They might well think that,’ said Gladwin with scant sympathy. ‘Although I realise there’s a lot more to the story than you’ve told me.’

The supermarket was only moderately busy and Thea was amused that the detective had assumed they should go to Waitrose, as opposed to Tesco or the Co-op. Gladwin was evidently mutating steadily from a Geordie to a proper middle-class Cotswold resident.

Then the illusion was shattered. ‘I hope this is all right. It’s the only one I know around here. I don’t suppose it matters if you only want some basics. I wouldn’t be seen dead here as a rule.’

‘You’re an inverted snob,’ Thea told her.

They returned to the subject of Grace’s death, Gladwin repeating that it looked ominously like foul play to her, and if so, she would not be the investigating officer. ‘Apart from anything else, I’m personally involved,’ she said. ‘It would be a conflict of interest. If it turns out that you killed the woman, I’d be seriously compromised. Not to mention that it happened in a house belonging to a friend of mine.’

Thea’s attempt at a laugh fell sadly flat. ‘I didn’t kill her,’ she said weakly.

‘Well, I certainly hope you didn’t. We’ll know the cause before long, at least. From the bits I’ve gleaned, it sounds like strangulation to me. Pressure on the carotid. It causes heart failure, if you get the right spot. The face goes very pale.’

‘Could it be self-inflicted?’

‘Easily – but there’d be a ligature still in place. I didn’t observe anything like that.’82

‘No,’ said Thea. ‘There was nothing like that.’

‘Well, here we are. Don’t rely on me, okay? I know it’s bad of me, but it’s beyond my control. The job has to come first – which I realise is not ideal. It’s not just you – I was supposed to take my boys out today. To be fair, I haven’t let them down too often this year, so far. But they only remember the disappointments, don’t they?’ She was speaking in agitated jerky sentences, waving at Thea to hurry. ‘I’ll call you,’ she said. ‘Sometime. Keep your phone on.’ And she drove off like a pig escaping from the slaughterhouse.

The shopping took less than twenty minutes. She snatched at packets of instant soup, ready-made microwavable meals, milk, bread, squash, biscuits, fruit, cheese and a few salad ingredients. Her thoughts were only sporadically on the food. Grace’s dead face insistently imposed itself on the tomatoes and apples. A sense of guilt at her own folly weighed heavily on her chest. Why was she stocking up so lavishly when she was surely not expected to stay in Barnsley all week? Tabitha would be summoned, the builders put on hold, questions endlessly asked. Not least, of course, by Drew, who had yet to be told what had happened.

It was half past twelve when the police car came into view, stopping when she waved at it. She pulled open the passenger door, sitting with her shopping arranged around her feet. ‘This is very nice of you,’ she said, despite knowing the woman had no choice but to do as the superintendent commanded.83