But what Judith loved most about Marlow was the way it was so much more than its picturesque High Street. There was the railway station, even if it was no more than a hut, from which it was possible to get trains into London. There was also a thriving business park on the edges of the town that employed thousands of people. And above all, Judith loved the two local schools that churned out a steady stream of well-educated teenagers who’d work the tills in the supermarkets or take your order in the coffee shops. Seeing all these youngsters, unfailingly polite and always pleasingly attractive to her eye, going about their day, or having picnics down by the river, or even hanging out in the skate park by the cricket pavilion, gave Judith a real glow of happiness. If this was the next generation coming through, then the world didn’t have too much to worry about, she reckoned.

Judith was by nature an optimist, it was almost her defining trait, but she also tried to be as honest as she could, and she had to admit that as much as Marlow remained a jaunty place, like all towns in Britain it had taken a bit of a battering over the last decade or so. It was all right if you were a tourist visiting for the day. There were plenty of high-end restaurants and clothes shops, so maybe you wouldn’t notice the dozen or so shops that were empty, their fronts tastefully postered to hide the absence of business going on inside. And the nice man who sold the Big Issue on one side of the High Street had recently been joined on the other side by a homeless man who sat cross-legged all day, a tin for coins in front of him.

The people remained good, that’s what she reminded herself as she got off her bicycle at the top end of the High Street and leant it against a wall.

As for where she was going, Judith had made up her mind the moment DS Malik had told her that she was wrong to believe that someone had killed her neighbour. She was going to start her investigation at Stefan Dunwoody’s art gallery.

Chapter 4

Judith had never set foot inside Dunwoody Arts before, but then she’d never had need to buy any artworks before. Why should she when she’d inherited her great aunt’s collection of paintings at the same time as she’d inherited her house?

As Judith entered, a young female attendant looked up from her desk, tears in her eyes.

‘Oh,’ Judith said. ‘You’ve heard.’

‘The police just called,’ the woman said. ‘I’m still reeling.’