‘Because she says that half an hour ago, Elliot started a bonfire in his garden.’

‘Oh,’ Becks said, a touch underwhelmed. ‘Is that so suspicious?’

‘It’s what he’s burning that’s suspicious.’

‘Why?’

‘Elliot’s just set fire to an old oil painting.’

Chapter 28

‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ Becks said as Suzie drove her friends in her tatty van through Marlow at speed. ‘We should be letting the police deal with Elliot.’

‘We are,’ Suzie said. ‘But it’ll take Tanika ten minutes to get from Maidenhead to Marlow. We’ve got a head start. And anyway, what’s the problem? You said Andy Bishop’s the killer.’

‘Yes, but we shouldn’t be doing this. We’re just a … well, just some housewives.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Judith said. ‘Can’t this thing go any faster?’

‘I’m going as fast as I can. Hold on,’ Suzie said as, with a screech of wheels, she turned at speed onto Gypsy Lane without indicating. ‘We’ve got to get there before he’s finished burning the evidence.’

Gypsy Lane was an old route that had once linked Marlow to the neighbouring village of Marlow Bottom, but it had recently been developed with family homes on both sides, and it ended in a turning circle where the last house was much grander than the rest. There were remote-controlled security gates, thick laurel hedges, and the driveway was a rather startling green tarmac which clashed with the bright red bricks of the house.

This was where Elliot Howard and his wife Daisy lived.

Suzie’s van bombed into the turning circle, shuddered to a halt as she slammed on the brakes and then came to a rest in a puff of dust, the left-side wheels bumping up onto the kerb.

‘Remind me never to let you drive me anywhere again,’ Becks said.

‘So which house is Brenda’s?’ Judith asked.

‘That one,’ Suzie said, indicating a small house that was next-door-but-one to Elliot’s.

A twinkly-eyed old dear in her late eighties came to the door as the three women bustled up to her house, and then she looked about herself conspiratorially before beckoning them inside.

‘This is Brenda,’ Suzie said, once they’d entered the little hallway.

‘This is all very Vichy France,’ Judith said in delight, taking in her surroundings. There were net curtains, thimbles on display and horse brasses on the wall. ‘What a lovely home,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ Brenda said. ‘And thank you for coming, Suzie. We’d better go upstairs. Come on.’

Brenda ushered the women up a staircase into a darkened room off the main hallway that contained a green baize table, already laid out with playing cards, bridge notepads and pencils.

‘Oh, you play bridge?’ Judith asked.

‘I do, do you?’

‘I used to. But I always overbid. It infuriates my partners.’

‘What bidding system did you use?’