“No. Daisy Brownell was the most together person I ever met in my life, I mean like a rock. I can understand why Tom couldn’t believe suicide. And frankly, I couldn’t imagine Daisy being blindsided—which is kind of what suicide is, don’t you think?” said Macalvie.

“Not really. It’s too complex to be a sudden, event-altering thing. And in her case, what was the blind side?”

“No one knew for sure, but the guess was it was Dan Cooke, her husband.”

“But she solved that problem, in the sense she took action. Apparently, she told him to leave. Another woman might have just wrung her hands and hung on. But Daisy took action. She just doesn’t sound the sort to see herself as a victim, or see a situation as hopeless.” Jury took a drink of his Adnams, and repeated what Matthew Bewley had told him about Daisy’s verdict on Hever Castle’s maze: “‘There’s always a way out.’ That doesn’t sound like a woman who’d kill herself.”

On his way to the airport, Jury got a call from DCI Brierly.

“We may have turned up a motive in the Servino case.”

“What?”

“That the car crash that left her partly paralyzed wasn’t really an accident.”

“If that were true—that she hated him enough to shoot him—would she have waited five years?”

“No, unless she found out something new about it. Tony Servino loved cars. He was always taking the Alfa Romeo out over different kinds of roads at different speeds. And he liked tinkering with them.”

“And this particular tinker was what?”

“Removing one of the supports from under the bonnet. Which would make the car even more vulnerable in any kind of collision.”

“But for the driver too, surely. You’re saying Servino would risk his own life to kill her?”

“He risked getting hurt, yes. But he knew all the roads and every obstacle along them. The guy could have practiced for a long time. He knew how hard to hit that barrier. If it didn’t work, he could always try again. And don’t forget, no one would think it was attempted murder, not certainly by the driver of the car.”

“So how did this come to light recently?”

“The mechanic at an auto repair shop that specializes in foreign cars. Italian, mostly: Maserati, Alfa Romeo, Ferrari. You know.”

“No, I don’t. So what did he—who was this, anyway?”

“Name’s Crenshaw. He owns the place—Crenshaw’s Foreign Cars—just off the North Circular Road. It’s where Tony Servino bought the car. Crenshaw sells used cars—but only the ones in top condition—”

“Of course. Go on.”