He felt uncomfortable at the thought of coming face to face with the man who had been Annie’s first love all those years ago. What made it worse was the fact that the guy had turned out to be a child molester, and had spent a couple of years inside.

It therefore came as a relief when the front door was opened by a man who was probably in his eighties. His thin, drawn face had been ravaged by age and there were only a few strands of grey hair lying flat across his scalp. He was wearing a dark brown cardigan and baggy jeans, and he did not look strong enough or fit enough to walk very far by himself, let alone stalk and then murder someone half his age.

James showed his warrant card. ‘Good afternoon, sir. I’m Detective Inspector James Walker with the Cumbria police. Are you Mr Ron Curtis?’

‘I was the last time I checked,’ came the response. ‘What do you want?’

‘I’d like to talk to you about Charlie Jenkins. I know he came here to see you yesterday.’

‘He did indeed, and I told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off after he had a pop at me. He wouldn’t have been so lippy if I was younger or if my son had been here.’

‘Out of curiosity, where was your son at the time and where is he now?’ James asked.

‘He had to go back to his place in Keswick to attend to some business,’ Ron said. ‘He stayed there last night and is coming back later on this evening to spend Christmas with me.’

James nodded. ‘I see. So would it be all right if I came in, sir? I won’t keep you long.’

The old man shrugged. ‘Don’t see why not, especially if what I’ve got to say will get that bastard Jenkins into trouble. Never did like him when I used to go drinking in his pub. Too cocky by half.’

A surprised look crossed James’s face as he entered the bungalow. It appeared that Ron Curtis did not know that Charlie Jenkins was dead.

The interior was cramped, gloomy and in need of a makeover, with damp stains on the walls and worn patches on the carpets. And there was a noticeable absence of Christmas decorations. Not a single bauble, card or flurry of tinsel.

Ron walked slowly with an awkward gait. By the time he got to the living room, where he dropped into an armchair, he was out of breath.

‘I’d offer to make you a cup of tea, but I’ve already had one,’ he said. ‘And I was just about to have my afternoon nap. So I suggest you ask your questions before I doze off, which I’m prone to do even in the middle of a conversation these days.’

James sat and launched into his questions. The first thing he wanted was confirmation of what Janet had told him

‘Let me start by asking you why Mr Jenkins came here yesterday,’ he said.