‘It’s on the shelf over there.’

‘Thanks.’

Cooper lifted the book down and flicked through the pages. There it was – Thanatology: The scientific study of death and the phenomena and practices relating to it. From the Greek Thanatos, meaning death.

Lovely. His professor was the genuine Dr Death.

Ellen Walker’s home was a double-fronted stone villa in the middle of a nineteenth-century terrace near the parish church. The very last house in the row had been converted into a shop at some time, but now the shutters were down and there was no sign of what had once been sold. By the look of the lace curtains at the first-floor windows, somebody still lived in the flat above the shop. A retired greengrocer or ironmonger, perhaps, driven out of business by Tesco or the massive B&Q store on the outskirts of town.

Through panes of frosted glass in the door of number 15, Cooper had a distorted glimpse into the hallway. All four windows at the front of the house had their blinds pulled down far enough to cover the upper sashes.

‘Mrs Walker?’ said Cooper when a middle-aged woman answered the door.

‘Are you from the police?’

‘Detective Constable Cooper, Mrs Walker.’

‘It’s Ellen.’

‘Thank you very much for calling us. You understand the circumstances? Why we had the facial reconstruction done?’

‘Well, I saw the photograph in the newspaper. My neighbour showed it to me. I didn’t really understand why it was there, but I was fairly sure …’

‘Let’s just take a look at it again first, shall we?’

Cooper didn’t like the sound of ‘fairly sure’. It would be better to let the witness come to her conclusion more slowly.

Ellen Walker seemed nervous at being visited by the police. It was so refreshing that Cooper forgot for a moment that it was so often a sign of guilt. He looked at the Victorian-style fireplace with its raised slate hearth. Disappointingly, it contained a coal-effect gas fire that had nothing Victorian about it. The windows faced on to the street, but through the kitchen he saw a conservatory leading on to a patio area enclosed by low gritstone walls.

‘The newspaper reproduction might not have been of very good quality. This is the original, Ellen. Take your time and have a good look at it. Bear in mind some of the details might not be exactly accurate. The hairstyle, for example.’

Mrs Walker obediently studied the picture. ‘The hairstyle isn’t too far out, not really.’

‘You’re sure it’s your cousin?’

‘Fairly sure.’

Cooper sighed. Fairly sure wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now.

‘The other details fit,’ said Mrs Walker. ‘Audrey was forty-two, and an inch or two taller than me.’

‘Was Audrey married?’

‘For a while. She met a bloke called Carl, who worked offshore on the oil rigs. He was all right, but they drifted apart after a bit. I think he went to Germany after the divorce went through.’