I freeze. Oh, God. It’s him. That private detective. He’s followed me home. Does he know I’m alone? Is he going to force his way in here and make me search the house? My imagination goes into overdrive and I have to tell myself to calm down. Snowy leaps up and trots down the hallway, barking. I go to the living-room window and peer out, trying to see who it is, my heart thumping. Maybe it’s just a reporter, I think, actually hope, for once. An unfamiliar car is parked on the driveway next to my Mini, some big blue sedan. Is it the private detective’s car? If he tries to get in I’ll call the police. But no, wait, there are two men outside. I recognize them as the police detectives from yesterday.

With relief I go to the front door and wrench it open. They must have news. Why else would they bother to visit instead of ringing? My throat goes dry.

‘Hi, Saffron,’ says the older one, DS Barnes. He holds up his badge unnecessarily. ‘May we come in?’

‘Of course,’ I say, moving aside. I show them into the living room and offer them a drink, which they both decline.

DS Barnes sits on the sofa and DC Worthing perches on the edge of the armchair. They are both imposing in the small room but I instantly feel safer having them here. For a few seconds there is silence, broken only by the birds chirruping outside.

I sit at the opposite end of the sofa to DS Barnes. He angles his body towards me. I can see the spider-web tattoo on his arm. He notices me looking and pulls at the hem of his shirt sleeve. ‘Is Mrs Cutler here?’

‘Um. No. She’s . . . she’s in London today.’ Now they’re here I can ask them if they have any updates on the Harrison Turner that Brenda mentioned.

A flash of concern crosses his face. ‘We have bad news, I’m afraid.’

I nod, steeling myself. ‘Okay.’

‘We’ve identified the male body in the garden.’

My mouth goes dry. ‘Right,’ I say, wondering why this would be bad news. Unless I knew him. But that’s not possible. And then I think of Gran and my stomach turns over.

DS Barnes reaches for his little black book in the inner pocket of his suit jacket and flips a few of the pages over. ‘Does the name Neil Lewisham mean anything to you?’

I shake my head. ‘Never heard of him.’ Just get to the point.