Then, in the distance, the faint roll of thunder.

Oh God, please don’t rain, thought Kate, pulling her jacket closer. She’d forgotten her umbrella and didn’t know how long she’d have to wait, partially hidden by the perimeter hedge, outside this steel-and-glass building just off a roundabout in Surrey. It wasn’t her first visit that day – she’d also spent a fruitless two hours watching and waiting early that morning. And now she was back again, just making it for – she checked her watch – five forty-five, having bunked off work early, claiming to have a migraine.

It had seemed like a good idea the night before. She’d got home late and Tim had been waiting up. By the look on her face, his immediate thought was that the vote hadn’t gone well.

‘Does everyone want to quit?’ he’d asked as he made her a cup of tea.

‘No, only Rob, Helen and Ian. The others want to carry on. I saw Justin,’ she said, sinking down onto the kitchen chair. ‘I told him I knew Becky had been killed.’

‘Oh my God. What did he say?’

‘He didn’t deny it. He had every opportunity.’

Tim came and put his arms around her and she rested her head against his chest.

‘He also told me to stop.’

‘The campaign?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, he knows you’re behind it.’

She nodded.

‘Was he threatening?’

‘Not in so many words. Not like that email.’

‘Was that from him?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask. At first, I was just terrified – he jumped me in the lane. Then I saw red, I was fuming at him.’ She shook her head. ‘I still don’t have enough for a watertight case . . . and they’re all so trusting. That girl . . . Rob’s girl. She looked me in the eye and said I could do it. But I don’t have enough. I still don’t even know who owns the farm.’

She rested her head in her hands, despondency seeping in. ‘I’m running out of money, Tim. I can’t keep this up. I can’t keep paying this forensic accountant.’

‘So, don’t.’

‘But then what? It’ll all be wasted. And I can’t do what I promised those people.’

‘But you can’t go bankrupt for them. They’d understand that.’ He paused. ‘Maybe it’s time . . .’ he started tentatively.

Her head shot up. ‘What?’

He shrugged. ‘There’s got to be a point when you have to call it a day. Practically, if nothing else. And the threats worry me . . .’

‘Threat,’ she corrected. ‘Only one so far.’

‘How many emails saying you’ll be killed do you want?’ said Tim, unable to hide his exasperation.

‘Are you saying I should stop?’

‘Don’t you want to?’ said Tim.

He was right. She knew he was right, but his instinct to give up the fight bothered her. Lately, he was always trying to subtly persuade her to chuck in the towel. Why should she be bullied into submission? Because you’ve had a death threat, said her inner voice, but this just made her more mutinous.