‘He was a good man I think,’ she said.

‘He was,’ Antonia agreed.

The two women sat in companionable silence for a while, Judith contentedly sucking on her boiled sweet.

‘And somebody killed him,’ she said.

Antonia’s eyes widened. ‘What’s that?’

‘You didn’t know?’

‘No. The guy on the phone said he’d had an accident.’

Judith’s handbag on her lap was still open and she closed the clasp with a snap.

‘I’m sorry to say that’s not what happened at all. He was shot dead.’

‘No way?’

‘Oh yes, I’m sure of it. So I suggest I help you shut up shop. You can’t possibly be expected to do a day’s work after a shock like this.’

‘You think that’s what I should do?’

‘Of course.’

‘You’d help me?’

‘I’ve got nowhere else to be. Now how do we do it?’

Antonia got a set of keys, explained how the alarm system worked, and together the two women locked up the gallery, turning over the sign at the front so it said it was closed. As Judith had suspected, the simple act of doing something physical seemed to give Antonia the space to process all that had happened.

Judith picked her moment with care.

‘You know, he can’t have been as perfect as all that,’ she said, as though the thought had only just that moment occurred to her.

‘What’s that?’

‘Mr Dunwoody. Logic suggests he was either not as blameless as he appeared, or he had at least one friend or acquaintance who was very much a wrong ’un. Seeing as someone did this to him.’

‘Oh. I see what you mean. But that’s not possible. He really was a nice guy. And there was no one bad in his life, either.’

Judith saw Antonia frown.

‘What is it?’ Judith asked.

Antonia didn’t say anything.

‘Go on,’ Judith cajoled. And then she waited. She knew that sometimes the best way to get someone to talk was to stay silent yourself.

‘Well, it’s just,’ Antonia eventually said, ‘if you’re going to suggest there was someone who was around here who was maybe a bit of a “wrong ’un”, well, you put a person in my mind. That’s all.’

‘And who is this “someone”?’

‘No idea. I don’t know his name.’

‘Then why don’t you tell me about him, and let’s see if we can work it out together?’

‘He’s an older gentleman. With grey hair. Or silver. It went down to his shoulders. He was very tall and grand.’

‘And this was a friend of Mr Dunwoody’s?’

‘I don’t think so. He came into the gallery last week.’

‘What day last week?’

‘Monday.’

‘Okay, so this man came into the gallery last Monday.’