Gemma had gone to collect Meredith from Trevor and Johnny’s barge as agreed, only to find it locked up and empty, no sign of life inside when she peered through the portholes. She’d had to go round all the other boats, knocking and calling, to see if anybody knew where they were. Nobody did, so she then drove around the three nearest pubs in the village, eventually finding the couple having a pint in the garden of the third. They were sitting in silence, looking glum, both wearing shades although the last soft rays of the evening sun had slid across to the other side of the garden. Trevor was twirling the tips of his moustache in an absent-minded way, and Johnny was flicking through his phone.

Gemma walked across to them, her heels sinking into the soft grass, exhaling with relief that she’d found them – while simultaneously swallowing irritation that she’d had to chase around the village to do it.

‘Hi – is Meredith here? I’ve just been to pick her up from the wharf, but she didn’t tell me you were all going to the pub.’

‘Oh, she went home this afternoon. She promised she’d let you know…’ Johnny said, looking up from his phone. ‘She didn’t want to stay. Said it was fine, as you were coming later.’ He paused. ‘Have you not seen her all day?’

‘No!’ Gemma said, more loudly than she’d intended. Worry had made her feel scratchy. ‘For God’s sake, why did she do that? Why did you let her?’

The two men raised their eyebrows at one another. ‘We’re not her keepers,’ Trevor said huffily. ‘She can do what she wants, and she asked me to drive her home, so I did. How were we meant to know she wouldn’t do as she was told?’

‘We were just trying to help,’ Johnny added, in a more conciliatory voice. ‘Poor woman’s in a right state. Is there any news about Pete?’

Gemma took a deep breath. ‘Yes, of course. It was very kind of you. No, I’m afraid there’s still no sign as to his whereabouts.’

She thought about vengeful, psychopathic Catherine Brown, Pete’s disappearance and Meredith’s vulnerability, and felt sick. In her mind’s eye she had a brief mental flash of Meredith’s little cottage, seen from above, a mere pinprick on the map of the Minstead Estate.

‘I need to go,’ she said abruptly. ‘Thanks guys. Enjoy your pint.’

Gemma keyed the code Meredith had given her into the keypad to open the side gate, reading the digits off the palm of her hand where she’d written them in biro. She could barely see them as dusk tipped into dark; black splodges of sheep moving in the field behind her, the soft rip of their teeth tearing at the grass the only sound she could hear.