Milly finally dropped the topic until the chilli, the rice and the bottle of wine were gone and they’d switched to Scotch. By that point in the evening Milly was stretched out on the sofa, her head in Noel’s lap. He gazed down at her with an expression either of befuddled joy at having found so perfect a soulmate or bewildered terror at how the hell he’d ended up in this particular trap. Ellie was leaning back in an armchair with a pleasant buzz on and had almost convinced herself the subject was forgotten when Milly piped up: “So come on, Ell. What happened at the farm?”

“Nothing much.”

“Ell.”

Ellie finally gave her a bowdlerised version of events, downplaying the violence – although, booze or no booze, it visibly didn’t fool Milly for a second. “And Liz H just let it all kick off?”

“Yeah.”

“So you gonna have to go back there?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Won’t someone have to ID Tony?”

“Tom can deal with that. And questioning them can wait till we’ve got some outside help in. I’m not going back there without the heavy mob.”

For nearly a minute, the only sound in the room was the CD she’d put on earlier. “Anyone want topping up?” Ellie said at last.

The bottle went round the room. “Think she let it kick off on purpose?” Milly said.

Ellie didn’t fence around this time. “Yeah.”

“What for?”

“Well,” said Ellie, “that’s the big question, isn’t it?”

“Could it not be some sort of family feud, got out of hand?” said Noel.

“I wondered that,” Ellie said. “If he got his head bashed in, I could see it – he gets into a scrap with Paul or Frank – someone lands a lucky punch, or he falls and cracks his head...”

“And they’re still family, so Liz wouldn’t want them getting done for it.” Milly pursed her lips. “His injuries didn’t look severe, but he could’ve had a bleed on the brain. Can’t always tell without digging a bit deeper. But you’d need a proper pathologist for that. And it still doesn’t explain how he ended up where he did. Right?”

“I know. A brawl’s one thing, but –”

“But someone chased him down,” said Noel. “Cornered him. Then stood around and watched him die.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s cold-blooded,” said Noel softly. “I mean, that’s really fucking cold-blooded.” He reached for the whisky, and no-one spoke. Noel hardly ever swore; when he did, it hung in the air.

“Exactly,” Ellie said. “And that mark.”

“What mark?”

Ellie took out her phone and showed her. “That was on the ledge where we reckoned Tony Harper’d been. Would have been just over his head. Liz said she didn’t recognise it, but –”

“Think she was lying?”

“Liz Harper, lie to the police?” said Noel. “Surely not.”

“Shut up, Jones.”