‘Connie Masters,’ she said. ‘Name mean anything to you?’

It did vaguely, but not in enough detail to satisfy her and he knew that once he’d chatted to his wife and shared the details of her day, he’d be up most of the night, his laptop on his knee, checking it out for the other woman in his life.

Chapter Nine

Connie hadn’t watched the news on TV since the day Elias died. She was always frightened that she might catch a glimpse of herself: pale and inarticulate at that first press conference, or running down the steps of the court in the rain at the end of the case, knowing even then that this was nowhere near over. Her preferred viewing now was light and escapist; she watched documentaries about celebrities, or selling houses or moving to the sun. Every evening, once Alice was in bed and asleep, she would pour herself a glass of wine, eat a supper that took no preparation and lose herself in the inanities on the screen. She had survived another day. Alice had survived another day. That alone was worth celebrating. Boredom was a small price to pay.

It was almost ten when her ex-husband phoned. So few people called her these days that the sound was a shock. She found that she was trembling.

‘Yes?’ There had been threatening phone calls, but they’d dwindled away to nothing. Perhaps the newspaper article commemorating Elias’s death had stirred things up again.

‘It’s me.’ Then when she didn’t answer. ‘Frank.’ A sharp bark, as if she were deaf or very old.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know. What do you want?’ She supposed it was about taking Alice away on holiday. He’d been talking about camping in France in June. She’d agreed of course, she couldn’t deprive her daughter of a treat like that, but all the time there was a niggle at the back of her mind. A very un-adult envy. Why can’t I come too?

‘I wondered if you’d heard. About Jenny Lister.’

‘What about her?’ Jenny had never been her favourite person. On the surface friendly enough. Supportive. But underneath quite ruthless. Steely even. Given to principles.

‘She’s dead. Murdered.’

Connie’s first reaction – absolutely appalling of course – was that it served priggish Jenny Lister sodding well right. Then that this might make life very awkward. What if the business with Elias was raked up all over again? Only then came a moment of guilt, because deep down she knew that Jenny had dealt with her as well as any manager would, and that with someone else in charge of the case the experience would have been no different.

Frank was still talking. ‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you. But I thought you’d want to know.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thanks. I hadn’t heard.’ She replaced the receiver. The television was still yattering away in the background and she turned it off. Then all the noises came from outside: the burn running over the pebbles at the end of the garden, and the leaves of the apple tree against the upstairs window. And the voices that were inside her head.