Leah made a beeline for the bar and I went over to Phyllis and Jude, taking note anew of Jude’s size; he’d certainly have the physical capability to do away with Bob, maybe even carry or drag him up Mamore Gap … although we now knew that the man had died of a heart attack. Also how would he have transported him? I couldn’t imagine Bob traveling on the back of Jude’s motorbike. Having said that, the girls must have driven here with Peadar. They must have a car.

I processed all of this at high speed as I approached their table. Lord knows what kind of an expression I was wearing. When I got there, they both looked up, and Jude smiled, his usual warm smile. Could I really be looking into the face of a killer?

“Lissa’s getting out later today,” he said without any preamble. “I’m just thanking this lovely woman for helping her, but I should be thanking you too.”

“Not at all. I did very little.” So, they could be leaving town today, I thought. Not much time for a chat.

“Do you want to join us?” Phyllis asked, but her tone wasn’t exactly encouraging, and she didn’t seem particularly upset when I said no. Now wasn’t the time, I thought. I’d collar Jude on his own before he left the pub.

Leah was halfway through a chicken sandwich when I joined her, after I’d given Tony my order at the bar. I looked at her, surprised. “How did you manage to get served so quickly?”

She grinned and spoke through a mouthful of food. “I ordered over the phone from the office. I told you I can’t last very long these days.” She nodded towards the table I’d just left. “Who is that with Phyllis?”

“That’s Jude. One of the people involved in the cycle. He’s a motorcyclist, a paramedic and an accountant.”

Her eyes widened. “Jude the accountant? The one who got in trouble over the bank?”

I nodded.

She took a sip of her water, eyes still on the bookseller and her new friend. “They look very close. Is there something going on there?”

“I don’t know. But I wouldn’t mind having a chat with him on my own. See what he says about what we found out this morning.” I lowered my voice. “The Sue Burns in Bob Jameson’s will is his daughter.’

Leah looked confused, but before I had a chance to explain, the door opened and Jack, the taxi driver who had given me a lift on Saturday morning walked in, newspaper rolled up under his arm. He headed straight for the bar and perched on a stool at the far end, flicking out the paper and smoothing it in front of him.

“One sec,” I said to Leah, who looked up in surprise as I got to my feet.