‘I said, when’s one of your lot gonna come . . . Never mind, luv, you obviously ain’t interested in what I gotta say.’

She started to walk off.

Jane grasped the gist of what she’d said.

‘Did you say one of them knocked you over?’

‘I said nearly. As a police officer you should pay more attention, you know. I was walkin’ up the road when this bloke opens a car door and nearly ’its me bad ’ip. After the robbery Fi told me she saw it ’appen and ’e was the one who drove the car.’

‘Has no one from the investigation been to see you?’

Betty frowned and shook her head. ‘Not a soul.’

Jane glanced across the road and saw Teflon inside the lounge bar, opening the door. She got her pocket notebook and pen out.

‘What’s your address, Betty? I’ll come and see you later, probably this afternoon sometime.’

‘Fifteen Dacre Road – it’s down there on the right. Don’t come between five and six as the Antiques Roadshow is on and I don’t like to miss that.’

She limped off.

Jane recalled wanting to speak to Betty on the Thursday afternoon, when she first met her, but not bothering as Fiona said DI Kingston was dealing with her. From what Betty had just said it seemed he hadn’t spoken to her, which didn’t make sense as Kingston had told her Betty was ‘a bit senile and not very reliable’, and in his opinion it wasn’t worth getting a statement from her. She had no reason to doubt Kingston. As she watched Betty limp down the road, she wondered if she had dementia and had forgotten about the whole thing. Or maybe she just liked the attention and wanted to talk to another policeman.

‘We need to get the local CID down here.’

Teflon sprinted towards the car.

‘What’s happened?’ Jane asked, hard on his heels.

‘The back door was open, and the keys were in it. There’s a woman at the bottom of the cellar and blood on the floor – looks like she fell backwards and hit her head on the concrete.’

‘Have you called an ambulance?’

‘No, she’s dead.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I checked for a pulse. I’m assuming it’s Fiona Simpson.’

He opened the car door and picked up the radio.

‘Call a divisional surgeon to pronounce life extinct and a lab liaison sergeant as well – ask for Paul Lawrence to attend, if he’s on call,’ Jane told him.

‘I was going to get the local lads to deal with it.’

Jane shook her head. ‘Locals can hold the scene until a lab sarge gets here – they know more about suspicious death scenes than a divisional SOCO or CID ever do.’

‘You reckon it’s suspicious?’