DS Barnes returns to his seat and Joy fusses around them all, ushering them into chairs opposite the officers, taking their coffee and tea orders. Lorna and Saffy flank her mother, who looks small in the chair and very confused, her fingers knitted together in her lap, her eyes darting between the two men, like a nervous child’s. Lorna reaches out and takes her mum’s hand for reassurance. She’s relieved when Rose lets her.

‘Now, I don’t want you to worry, Rose,’ says DS Barnes, kindly. ‘This is an informal chat. We’re just gathering information at this point. Like we’re doing with everyone connected to the property.’ He has a notebook and pen on the table in front of him. He opens the notebook and takes off the lid of his pen, ready.

Her mother doesn’t say anything, instead staring ahead, sipping the tea that Joy kindly brought in.

‘So, first, can I just have some information, Rose? Like your date of birth?’

Her mother suddenly looks panicked, lowering her mug. ‘I . . . um . . . July . . . no, August . . . 1939, I think . . .’

‘You were born in 1943, Mum,’ pipes up Lorna. She turns to DS Barnes. ‘The twentieth of March 1943.’

‘Oh, yes, yes, 1943. In the middle of the war, you know.’ Her mother takes another sip of her tea and smacks her lips together. Lorna glances over her head at Saffy, who stares back at her anxiously.

This is surely going to be a disaster. How can they proceed with this when her mum can’t even remember her own date of birth?

‘And you’ve been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s?’ asks DS Barnes.

Her mother doesn’t say anything so Lorna adds, ‘Yes, last summer.’

Saffy fidgets in her seat. Lorna notices she’s hardly touched her glass of water.

‘Thanks, Lorna,’ says DS Barnes, nodding to her without smiling. ‘So, Rose, my notes say you began proceedings to rent out the cottage in April 1981.’

She shakes her head. ‘I . . . don’t know.’

He refers to his little black notebook. ‘We know that your first tenant was in June 1981. A couple who rented the house from you for ten years. We’ve already spoken to them. But before that you lived at the property for nearly four years. Did anyone live there with you?’

‘I . . . had a lodger.’

This is news to Lorna. She sits up straighter. She notices Saffy does the same.

‘A lodger? Male or female?’ asks DS Barnes.

‘A female lodger. Daphne . . . Daphne Hartall.’ She says the name almost with relish, like she hasn’t said it in a very long time and enjoys the way it forms on her lips.

Her mother has never mentioned a Daphne before.

‘Can you remember what year this was?’ says DS Barnes.