‘Shouldn’t be long,’ added the other.

Neither had stopped work on his car. Rebus wondered if they were in some sort of race; not that they were rushing, but there seemed an element of competition, their concentration intense.

‘Looking to buy some pottery?’ the first asked, as he got to work on the front grille of his BMW.

‘Actually, I wanted a look at the doll,’ Rebus said, sliding his hands into his pockets.

‘Don’t think that’s likely. She’s signed some sort of exclusive with one of your rivals.’

‘I’m a police officer,’ Rebus stated.

The Rover owner snorted at his neighbour’s mistake. ‘That might make a difference,’ he said, laughing.

‘Odd sort of thing to happen,’ Rebus said conversationally.

‘No shortage of those around here.’

‘How do you mean?’

The BMW driver rinsed out his sponge. ‘We had a spate of thefts a few months back, then someone daubed the door of the church.’

‘Kids from the estate,’ the Rover driver interrupted.

‘Maybe,’ his neighbour conceded. ‘But it’s funny it never happened before. Then the Balfour girl goes missing …’

‘Do either of you know the family?’

‘Seen them around,’ the Rover driver conceded.

‘They held a tea party two months back. Opened the house. It was for some charity, I forget which. They seemed very pleasant, John and Jacqueline.’ The BMW driver glanced at his neighbour as he spoke the names. Rebus saw it as yet another element of the game their lives had become.

‘What about the daughter?’ Rebus asked.

‘Always seemed a bit distant,’ the Rover driver said hurriedly, not about to be left out. ‘Hard to strike up a conversation with her.’

‘She spoke to me,’ his rival announced. ‘We had quite a chin-wag once about her university course.’

The Rover driver glared at him. Rebus could foresee a duel: dampened chamoises at twenty paces. ‘What about Ms Dodds?’ he asked. ‘Good neighbour, is she?’

‘Bloody awful pottery,’ was the only comment.

‘This doll thing’s probably been good for business though.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ the BMW owner said. ‘If she has any sense, she’ll capitalise on it.’

‘Promotion’s the life-blood of any new business,’ his neighbour added. Rebus got the feeling they knew what they were talking about.

‘Small concession might do wonders,’ BMW man mused. ‘Teas, home baking …’ Both men had stopped working, growing thoughtful.

‘I thought that was your car in the lane,’ Bev Dodds said, striding towards the group.

While tea was being made, Jean asked if she could see some of the pottery. An extension at the back of the cottage housed both the kitchen and the spare bedroom, which had become a studio. Jean praised the various bowls and plates, but Rebus could tell she didn’t like them. Then, as Bev Dodds was sliding the various bangles and bracelets up her arms again, Jean praised those, too.

‘I make them,’ Bev Dodds said.

‘Do you?’ Jean sounded delighted.