‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because I know you’ll have been wondering if it floated downstream.’

Rebus didn’t let on that he’d been thinking exactly this, but she seemed to sense it anyway and bounced on her toes again.

‘And it was out in the open,’ she went on. ‘I don’t think it could have been left there by accident. They’d have noticed and come back for it.’

‘Ever considered a career in the police, Ms Dodds?’

She tutted. ‘Please, call me Bev.’ She didn’t answer his question, but he could see she was pleased by it.

‘I don’t suppose you brought it with you?’

She shook her head, which sent her hair tumbling, so that she had to draw it back again. ‘It’s down in the cottage.’

He nodded. ‘Lived here long, Bev?’

She smiled. ‘Haven’t quite got the accent yet, have I.’

‘You’ve a way to go,’ he admitted.

‘I was born in Bristol, spent more years than I care to remember in London. Divorce sent me scampering, and this is where I ran out of breath.’

‘How long ago was that?’

‘Five, six years. They still call my home “the Swanston cottage”.’

‘The family who lived there before you?’

She nodded. ‘Falls is that kind of place, Inspector. Why are you smiling?’

‘I wasn’t sure how it would be pronounced.’

She seemed to understand. ‘Funny, isn’t it? I mean, there’s just the one little waterfall, so why “Falls”? Nobody seems to know.’ She paused. ‘It was a mining village.’

His forehead furrowed. ‘Coal mines? Here?’

She stretched out her arm towards the north. ‘A mile or so that way. Little came of it. This was back in the thirties.’

‘Which was when they built Meadowside?’

She nodded.

‘But there’s no mining now?’

‘Not for forty years. I think most of Meadowside is unemployed. That patch of scrubland, it’s not the meadow in question, you know. When they built the first houses there was a proper meadow there, but then they needed more houses … and they built right on top of it.’ She shivered again, and changed the subject. ‘Think you can get your car turned?’

He nodded.

‘Well, take your time,’ she said, beginning to move away. ‘I’ll head back and make some tea. See you at Wheel Cottage, Inspector.’

‘Wheel,’ she explained, pouring water into the teapot, for her potter’s wheel.

‘It began as therapy,’ she went on. ‘After the break-up.’ She paused for a moment. ‘But I found out I was actually quite good at it. I think that surprised quite a number of my old friends.’ The way she said these last two words made Rebus think that these friends had no place in her new life. ‘So maybe “wheel” stands for the wheel of life too,’ she added, lifting the tray and leading him into what she called her ‘parlour’.