As he hurried from the cottage to the back door of the station and into the small change-room, Jake noticed a light on in the front office. Murphy must have come in early.

Ten minutes later, Jake scrubbed at his hair with a towel to remove as much moisture as possible before braving the brief walk back to his room. As he contemplated buying a beanie, or perhaps an earflap hat, his reverie was interrupted by the door to the front office opening.

‘Hunter?’

He turned, lowering the towel. Senior Sergeant Aiden Kelly stood in the doorway in a heavy jacket, arms casually folded.

‘Sir?’

‘Still no electricity?’

‘No sir.’

Kelly frowned. ‘I’ll make a call. Bloody Murphy. He was supposed to get it reconnected before you arrived.’

‘I’m heading out to interview Amelia MacDonald shortly.’

‘Yes, Murphy said. I’ve brought Evelyn to go with you.’

Jake failed to hide his displeasure.

‘Look. We don’t want any accusations of inappropriate behaviour …’

Jake drew breath to protest.

Kelly held up a hand. ‘Not that there would be any, but this way, there can’t be. Have a woman in the room—especially with the touchy ones—and everyone’s covered.’

Jake saw no benefit in challenging the erroneous assumptions in that statement. ‘Are you saying that Amelia MacDonald is likely to make a complaint?’

Kelly locked eyes with Jake. ‘The girl was disturbed when they first took her in. Upset MacDonald no end, caused all kinds of trouble for his wife. When she’s stirred up it’s hard on the family. Go easy on the girl, if you can, and report back to me as soon as you’ve spoken to her.’

‘Yes sir. And the same for Charlotte Murphy this afternoon?’

‘She’s no trouble. Take Murphy for that one.’

‘Isn’t there a conflict of interest? Him being family?’

Kelly snorted. ‘Everyone’s related to everyone in this town, Hunter. If we followed that rule, we wouldn’t be able to interview anyone.’

With that, Jake’s superior officer withdrew to the front office, leaving the door open behind him.

Evelyn appeared in the doorway, a large cardboard cake box balancing on one palm. ‘Ready?’

With her hair pulled back crisply into a bun at the nape of her neck, plunging V-neck jacket and immaculate black kitten heels, Evelyn would have been at home striding between glass-plated high-rise buildings in Manhattan.

‘Just going to shave,’ Jake said.

*

‘Mrs MacDonald?’ he asked the raw-boned woman in a blue velour tracksuit who answered the door.

‘It’s Mary. You must be the new detective and …’

‘Detective Jake Hunter,’ he said as he shook her hand.

Mary hesitated. ‘Oh. Evelyn.’

‘Hello, Mrs MacDonald. It’s nice to see you again.’ She held out the cake box.

Mary MacDonald ignored the gesture. ‘You’ve both come to see Amelia? I’m not sure that’s …’ She waved one hand vaguely over a shoulder. ‘Well, all right. She’s in her studio.’

Trailing the small, neat woman through a labyrinthine home of cheap, wood-panelled walls and worn, scrupulously clean furniture, they arrived at an incongruous door covered in posters of TV soap stars. Jake only vaguely recognised the shows, but he couldn’t have put a name to any of the actors or their characters.