‘I know,’ Becks agreed. ‘So when he told me, I said “how horrible”, or something like that. I don’t remember. I was reeling a bit, if I’m honest. And then Andy turned to me and said, all matter-of-fact, “I don’t suppose you want your husband out of the way like that?” I was horrified, and he laughed, saying he was joking. So I pretended that I was an idiot for believing him. People always believe it when I pretend to be an idiot. It’s how I look.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Judith said.

‘No, they do. And for once, I was glad I’m just a silly housewife. Because he relaxed, thinking we’d bonded over the whole “joke”. Rather than him making me feel sick to my stomach. And as we turned and walked back to Marlow, I asked him about his life, purely to change the subject. I can tell you, he’s got a pumped-up view of himself. Despite having joked about getting my husband killed, he started coming on to me again. It was horrendous. With him saying how he’d been a significant athlete in his youth, how he might have thickened a bit since then, but he was still strong. Still “capable”. That’s the word he used. It was disgusting. And you know what, maybe I’ll have a whisky after all?’

‘Bloody hell, you deserve it,’ Judith said, going to her sideboard, splashing a whisky into a glass and bringing it over to Becks.

Becks, the perfect vicar’s wife, the perfect mother, daughter and housewife, took a sip.

‘Sheesh!’ she said, wiping the stinging liquid from her lips with the back of her hand. ‘Does it always have to be whisky?’

‘I’ll be honest,’ Judith said, ‘Suzie and I had tea earlier, and it felt wrong. But well done, Becks, you’ve been a real hero. Setting the fire alarm off with your toast, that was brave enough. Taking Andy out of his office was incredibly quick thinking. And getting that information about the gun was even more amazing. Let alone making him break cover and offer to get your husband killed for you, even if he claimed it was a joke at the time. I’m telling you, you’ve achieved more than any of us.’

The flush of red in Becks’ cheeks wasn’t entirely caused by the sudden rush of whisky in her blood.

‘So,’ Judith said, returning to the whisky bottle on the sideboard, ‘now that Andy has admitted that he knows Stefan was shot, and with an antique pistol to boot, what do we think that means?’

‘He’s the killer,’ Becks said.

‘Although,’ Judith said, thinking it through, ‘if he were the killer, would he really tell you he knew someone had shot him?’

‘Sounds like he couldn’t keep himself from bragging,’ Suzie said.