She appeared to weigh up her answer. ‘I wasn’t thinking about the manor.’

Jake groped for her meaning. ‘The girls’ home?’

‘That’s not all it was.’

Finally! Come on, woman, tell me more. ‘What else was it?’

‘Ask these ladies. They’ll know,’ she said, leaving, plastic strips clacking loudly in her wake. She walked rapidly along the cracked cement footpath, the bundle of hot potato clutched to her chest.

What exactly did she mean by the girls’ home being more than it seemed? At least he had her name now. If need be he could track her down for an interview.

Jake spun back to the serving counter. The younger woman smiled at him; an older woman beside her stared at the worktop, immersed in sandwich-making. Jake noticed they both bore gold crosses—similar to Evelyn’s—on fine gold chains around their necks.

‘Do either of you have any idea what she was talking about?’

The younger woman shrugged. The older woman ignored him.

He turned to the woman with white hair. ‘Do you?’

She cackled. ‘Sonny, if you’re not old enough to know then I’m not old enough to tell you.’ She took her paper-wrapped package from the counter and pushed her way through the door strips to the sunny street outside.

Jake waited until he was the only patron left. He moved to stand in front of the older woman behind the counter, her short, dyed chestnut curls bobbing to reveal grey roots as she buttered bread with industrial enthusiasm. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘have you lived in Dunton long?’

Her head shot up. ‘I’m no blow-in! I’m sixth generation.’

‘So you’ve lived here your whole life?’

‘That’s what I just said.’

Right, time for answers. ‘In that case, you know about the girls’ home that used to be behind the Campbell manor.’

She twitched a shoulder in response.

‘Do you, or don’t you?’

She flashed him a look of anger. ‘Why would I know anything about the bad girls’ home? I never went there.’

‘Why would you go there?’

‘I wouldn’t.’ She flicked her eyes to the younger woman next to her. ‘Never needed to.’

Jake tried employing silence. He stood, face passive, staring at the older woman waiting for an answer …

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ The younger woman rolled her eyes. ‘Stop being so secretive. Look …’ She waited for Jake to give his name.

‘Jake. Detective Jake Hunter.’

‘Jake. When I was little I had a cousin who had to go there. It was all so stupid. She was pregnant—even though no one said anything, it was obvious. Then, one day, she wasn’t. When I asked about it one of the other cousins said she’d gone to the bad girls’ place. Of course, what they meant was she went there to have an abortion.’

The older woman gasped. ‘We’re not that kind of people!’

‘Then what?’ Jake pressed.