Sitting in the car outside the Shaw house, Joe Ashworth tried to imagine what it must have been like living there for the last few years. Derek, the strong man, who’d built houses, made money, provided well for his family, suddenly seeing himself as a failure. Living with dreams of what might have been. The woman, forced to give up the easy life and take work she despised. Had she blamed Derek? Secretly, and hating herself for it, had her resentment eaten into the marriage? Led her to find a lover, start an affair? Ashworth wouldn’t have been surprised. Then there was the boy, bright and charming and used to getting everything he wanted, thwarted first by Hannah and then by the change in his parents’ fortunes. Ashworth wished Vera had been with him for the interview. She would have teased out the implications of the situation. She would have made more sense of it.

He started the car and drove along the valley towards Barnard Bridge. Connie’s Nissan was still missing from outside the cottage, but he stopped there anyway, knocked on the door and looked through the windows. The post was sticking out through the letter-box. He pushed it through. Sitting in the garden, he worked through the names of Connie’s friends given to him by Frank, calling each in turn. It didn’t take long. There were only three of them, all women, and none had seen Connie for a while. ‘We sort of lost touch when she moved out west,’ one said, and that was the gist of each of the responses. They felt awkward because they hadn’t been better friends. Joe realized again how isolated Connie had become, too proud to keep up with the friends from her old life and ignored by the women in her new one. He tried Connie’s mobile once again, but the call was immediately transferred to the answering service.

On impulse he walked across the lane and up the drive to the big house where the Eliots lived. One time he’d have been nervous. He hadn’t liked policing when work took him into smart houses, was happier in the council estates, the small miners’ cottages. But Vera had worked on him: You’re as good as any of them. Don’t be intimidated by money. It doesn’t mean they’re brighter than you, and it certainly doesn’t make them better people.

Veronica Eliot opened the door. She didn’t invite him in and he felt about as welcome as a double-glazing salesman. At least the Shaws had been pleased to see him.

‘I wondered if you have any idea where Connie Masters might be?’ he asked.

‘Why would I?’

‘You were at her house yesterday afternoon when Jenny Lister’s bag was found. Being neighbourly. She’s having a tough time at the moment. I thought she might have told you. If she was hiding out from the press.’