‘That’s what you think,’ Suzie said. ‘But not everyone’s quite what we thought they were, are they? Judith here thought her neighbour Stefan was clean as a whistle, but we now know he stole a painting worth hundreds of thousands from under the nose of Elliot Howard. So there’s no knowing what dark secrets lurk in the past of anyone. Isn’t that right, Judith?’

Suzie was surprised that her question seemed to catch Judith off guard and the older woman spilled her tea down her chin as she was taking a sip.

‘Look what I’ve done!’ she exclaimed.

‘No worries,’ Becks said, yanking yards of the thickest kitchen towel from a dispenser and handing them over to Judith.

Becks attended to Judith, and Judith was so busy scolding herself for her slip that neither of them noticed that Suzie was looking at Judith somewhat askance. If she wasn’t mistaken, and she knew she wasn’t, Judith was behaving as though she had something to hide. Suzie had a hunch it was linked to the time Judith had blushed when they’d talked about her husband. And, now she was thinking about it, the memory of the locked door in Judith’s house also popped into her head. Why did Judith, who was so open and upfront about so much, have a locked door in her house?

Everyone was startled by the sound of a mobile phone ringing. Suzie eventually realised it was hers and fished it out of her back pocket.

‘I don’t recognise the number,’ she said as she looked at the cracked screen.

‘Hello, this is Suzie Harris,’ she said, answering the call.

Suzie listened for a few moments, and then lowered the phone from her ear.

‘It’s Iqbal’s imam,’ she said in a theatrical whisper that was some degrees louder than her normal speaking voice. ‘He says the police have released his body, so the funeral’s going to be tomorrow. He wants to know how many people I’m bringing.’

‘You can count me in,’ Judith said without a moment’s hesitation.

Suzie turned to Becks, who tussled with her conscience only briefly.

‘Look, I can’t help you with your investigation,’ she said. ‘I just can’t. But of course I’ll come. It’s the least I can do.’

Suzie put the phone back to her ear.

‘Thanks for the invite. There’ll be three of us at Iqbal’s funeral.’

Chapter 19

Iqbal’s mosque was situated on the edge of High Wycombe, surrounded on all sides by terraced houses. It was a 1980s red-brick building, but it had a grand white dome and minaret on top.

As for the funeral service, a ceremony that Becks explained to the others was called a ‘Janazah’, it was both nothing like a funeral the women had been to before, but also a lot like all of them.