Cooper remembered the moments that Ellen Walker had spent staring at him while he tried to recover from his surprise at hearing Audrey Steele had been cremated. All he’d been able to think of to do after that was to ask her for a recent photograph of Audrey.

‘You mean, from not long before she died?’ she’d said.

‘Preferably.’

‘I wouldn’t have one normally. Nothing since we were in our twenties, anyway. But her mum had some cards done for the funeral. They were like a memorial tribute, with a bit of a poem on them. Do you know the sort of thing I mean?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Well, I kept mine, so it should be around here somewhere. The quality isn’t too bad. I think Auntie Viv spent quite a bit of money on having them done. But then, she would do. She thought the world of Audrey.’

‘Viv is her mother, I take it?’

‘Vivien Gill. Auntie Viv is my mother’s sister.’

‘Would you be able to find the memorial card for me, Mrs Walker?’

Ellen had hesitated. ‘I don’t know why you want to see it. What use can it be to you?’

‘I’m not really sure myself. But, all the same, if it isn’t too much trouble …?’

‘All right. But it might take me a minute, so sit yourself down while you’re waiting.’

‘Thank you.’

She’d gone through into the next room, and Cooper had heard her opening a drawer.

‘Here we are. It didn’t take long, after all.’

‘Thank you.’

The photo of Audrey Steele had been in colour, with a little too much red tone, but printed on good quality card, with a gloss finish. Audrey was smiling, enjoying herself somewhere in the sun, with a cocktail on a table in front of her and a patch of blue sea in the background. She was wearing a white, sleeveless T-shirt with thin straps that revealed her shoulders, pink from the sun.

‘Audrey always had boyfriends when she wanted them,’ Ellen Walker had said. ‘Men liked her.’

‘Yes, she looks … Well, she looks fun.’

‘That’s exactly right. That’s what she was. Everybody liked Audrey, because she was such fun.’

‘Was she an only child?’

‘No, she has a brother and sister.’

Cooper had hesitated, more questions burning in his mind that he was almost afraid to ask.

‘I don’t suppose she ever had any children?’

‘She had a little girl when she was with Carl – that’s the oil-rig man. But the child was born premature and died before they could get her home from the hospital. It was a real shame. I think those two would have settled down together if Corinne had lived.’

‘Can you remember if Audrey ever broke her arm?’

‘She might have done. Or was it her leg? No, I’m not sure.’

‘Or had a head X-ray?’

‘I’ve no idea.’