‘That’s one of my local watering holes,’ James said. ‘Looks like it will be my first port of call after leaving here since it might well be the last place Robert Bateman was seen alive.’

Dr Flint had finished her initial examination of the bodies and was dictating her notes into her phone so James waited until she was finished before asking her what she thought.

‘I won’t know for sure until we get them back to the mortuary,’ she replied. ‘But based on the patterns of lividity and the rigor mortis, I would say they died on Christmas Eve or in the early hours of Christmas morning.’

‘Any thoughts on how it might have played out?’

‘Well, the fact that Mr Bateman is still clinging to the shotgun would seem to suggest that he used it to kill himself. But in scenes like this that I’ve attended in the past the shotgun was always found on the floor or ground next to the body. However, it could be that Mr Bateman’s thumb got caught in the trigger guard when he went down. So, I’m afraid it’s going to be for you to work out if this is a set-up or not.’

James felt his chest expand as he let out a breath and turned to look again at the corpses.

At least now they could focus on a more specific timeline. On Christmas Eve Robert Bateman visited a pub in the village, and it was highly likely that he came straight home from there with the drinks he’d bought.

So, what happened at that point? Did the family get into a fierce argument that ended in their deaths? Or did an entirely different scenario unfold, one that involved someone who fled the scene after taking steps to confuse the police?

James thanked Dr Flint and decided to go and stage another impromptu briefing with his team. But as he stepped outside, he saw DC Abbott hurrying towards him.

‘They’ve found something in the cellar that you need to come and see, guv,’ she said when she reached him. ‘And if you were thinking that this case is already pretty weird … well, it just got a whole lot weirder.’

CHAPTER NINE

There was an exterior entrance to the cellar on one side of the house where a short flight of concrete steps led down to an oak door that stood open.

The cellar itself was large and soulless, with a low ceiling from which hung a single uncovered light bulb.

It cast a soft glow that revealed heavy duty metal shelving units crammed with storage boxes, plastic jerry cans, empty bottles and bags of vegetables.

A long metal workbench stood against one wall and on top of it were various tools, several sacks of topsoil and a few tins of paint.

Exposed beams criss-crossed the ceiling and the timber floor had fallen victim to dry rot in places.