‘That’s fine,’ said Gemma, ‘but please think hard. We can’t ignore this. I’ll need to let M— … Mark, I mean DI Davis, know.’

She stammered over his name, almost calling him Mavis.

‘I can’t remember anything like that happening, no. But if it was someone who found me based on this – why didn’t they kill me? Why kill Ralph and Andrea? Or…’ she swallowed, ‘…Pete, God forbid, if they’re after people close to me? And why now?’

The two women gazed at one another. Gemma wanted to reassure her, but found she couldn’t. ‘We don’t know that Pete isn’t in danger,’ she said, absolutely dying to pour herself a glass of the wine. Red stained her braces though, she reminded herself, but it didn’t stop the craving. ‘Or you. We have to work out who’s done this and stop them, before it escalates any further. There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask you: the night Ralph went missing, Pete came to “pick you up” to go for a drink. But he doesn’t have a car, does he?’

‘He’s got a van, for his furniture deliveries,’ said Meredith slowly. ‘But yes, that night he was on his bike.’

‘So why did you say he was picking you up? Why not just meet him at the pub in the village, near his workshop?’

There was a long silence. Finally, Meredith raised her eyes to Gemma’s. ‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ Meredith blurted, leaning back against the kitchen counter. ‘I didn’t before, because … well, you’ll see why … but…’

‘What?’ Gemma was concerned that Meredith was going to pass out. Beads of sweat had popped onto her brow. ‘Sit down, Meredith. I’m worried about you. What is it?’

Meredith paused then spoke in a gabble, as if the faster she said the words, the less impact they’d have.

‘I had sex with Ralph on the evening he went missing. We were both pissed. I regretted it straight away and went home, but when I got back here I realised I’d lost my key – it had fallen out of my pocket. I went back for it and he was dead on the floor. I must have been the last person to see him alive … apart from whoever killed him.’

‘What?’