The young man I had seen at the graveside in Rothwell stood by the window. His mother was seated in a leather armchair, so big that it threatened to swallow her. Monsieur Campaner introduced us. The family resemblance between mother and son was clear. They had the same high cheek bones, sleek dark hair and blue-grey eyes.

I can’t now remember what I said, because feelings rather overcame me. It was not my place to cry. Perhaps because of my accident, my tiredness and the journey, I could not stop my tears. They cried, and so did I.

Chapter 52

Chapter Fifty-Two

Three of us sat around the kitchen table. Mrs. Sugden had ringed a short but chilling item in the local paper.

MURDER TRIAL EASTER ASSIZES

The trial of Stephen Walmsley for the murder of Helen Farrar will take place at Leeds Crown Court during the Easter Assizes. Date to be announced.

A calendar hangs on the wall, showing a date of 31st March for Easter Sunday. In just over three weeks, Stephen would stand in the dock. Our best hope would be to put up a magnificent defence.

“Have you heard from Mr. Cohen?”

Mrs. Sugden shook her head. “Not yet. I delivered the statements to his office.” She pushed a folder towards me. “Here are copies. It was a funny business, to be asking questions of a whole street.”

“Anything helpful?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Arkwright and Joan vouched for him being with them until minutes before he raised the alarm. Some neighbours had nothing to say, or didn’t want to be caught up in it. There’s neighbours that give times for him passing by, one listening to a wireless, one looking at the clock, wondering where her husband had got to.”

“Nothing unusual?”

Mrs. Sugden pushed in a stray hairpin. “Our friend at the end house was interesting, Mrs. Waste-Not-Want-Not.”

“Valerie Pennington,” Sykes added.

“Aye. She made a point of saying that she didn’t see Mr. Brockman. Well why would you say who you didn’t see?”

That was a good question. “She has a grace and favour cottage, probably granted by him, but that’s not a good enough reason.”

Sykes wanted to know why she had a rent-free house in the first place. A movement outside, by the back fence, caught my attention. “Who’s that?”

Mrs. Sugden followed my glance. “I didn’t know what to do with him. It’s young Alec Taylor. He came home with us on the train, worried about facing the butler’s wrath for taking part in getting you back to Wakefield. He’s frightened of taking the blame for tinkering with the car. I’m sure he didn’t do it, but he has a good idea who did.”