Steph’s gaze trailed the people walking past the pub. Arundel was a popular place with tourists and the clement weather had drawn them out. A woman walking across the bridge towards the pub caught her attention. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail and the red-framed glasses she wore looked stark against her pale complexion. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a pair of lace-ups and a lilac fleece. Before the woman even appeared in the doorway, Steph was certain it was Sonia Lomas. The woman had an aura of sadness about her, and as she paused to scan the pub Steph could see the emptiness in her eyes, the slight droop in the shoulders of someone carrying the burden of grief. The woman met Steph’s gaze, nodded and approached the table.

‘Sonia Lomas?’ asked Steph, albeit needlessly, as she stood up to greet her.

‘Steph Durham?’

Steph held out her hand, which Sonia shook. ‘Nice to meet you.’ She gestured to the seat opposite. ‘Can I order you a coffee or a tea?’

‘Coffee, please. Black. No sugar,’ said Sonia.

Steph returned a few minutes later with the coffee and sat down opposite Sonia. ‘I’m glad you came,’ she said. ‘It’s much easier to speak face to face than over social media.’

‘I assume it was also to weigh me up,’ said Sonia. There was no malice in her voice. ‘Just to make sure I’m not some crazy woman who can’t accept the outcome of the police enquiry.’ The last words were spoken through gritted teeth.

‘I’m interested in the truth,’ said Steph. ‘Whatever that might be.’

Sonia looked across the rim of her coffee cup. ‘The truth is, my daughter was murdered.’

‘Mrs Lomas,’ began Steph. ‘Sonia …’ She looked at the older woman, waiting for approval at the use of her Christian name. Sonia Lomas offered no objection, so Steph continued. ‘Why do you think Elizabeth was murdered?’

Sonia placed her cup carefully down on the table. ‘She was frightened. Things weren’t working out with her husband. She wanted to leave but was too scared.’

‘She told you that?’

‘She left me a voicemail saying as much.’

‘Did you ever speak to her in person about it?’

‘I didn’t get the chance. I phoned her straight back but she said she couldn’t talk. I tried again the next day and the day after but each time she said it wasn’t a good time. Then she sent me a text message telling me not to worry, she knew what she was going to do and she’d be back home as soon as she could.’

‘Do you still have the voicemail?’

‘Of course,’ said Sonia, a touch of indignation in her tone. She fished in her handbag and retrieved her mobile phone. ‘Dial 121 and listen to saved messages.’