She saw a flicker of uncertainty cross Margery’s face, and the older woman stopped walking.

‘How dare you? I don’t think I’ve ever—’

Harri was familiar with this particular brand of indignation. Billy Tompkins, her old patrol partner in London, used to say people squeal the loudest when you’ve got the tightest grip on their balls.

She cut Margery off. ‘I’ve been around long enough to spot a liar. I just don’t understand why you’re not telling the truth. Unless you were involved?’

Margery’s scowl fell away. ‘Involved? You don’t think . . . Why would I? I didn’t even know the man.’

Harri was surprised to see tears form in Margery’s eyes, and she gently led the older woman to the west side of the bridge, behind the tiny rail terminal. Fred, the springer spaniel, sniffed the struts that supported the handrail.

Margery wiped her eyes. ‘I was a headmistress once. A good one. They made me take early retirement. Your views are outdated, they said. You’re too cold. Too inhumane. Too distant.’ The tears were gone, replaced by seething fury at past injustice. ‘Too distant? Ridiculous. Do children need a friend, or do they need a teacher?’ Margery’s chin quivered and her eyes lost focus for a moment. ‘I didn’t do anything. I could see the man was in trouble, and I didn’t help him.’ She hesitated. ‘Now I’ve got to live with that for the rest of my life. It’s my punishment.’

‘What punishment?’ Harri asked. ‘What did you do wrong?’

Margery took a deep breath and her vulnerable core was replaced by the hard shell Harri had encountered at the woman’s front door. Margery’s eyes burned with resentment, and Harri had no doubt she hated the idea of showing weakness, particularly to a stranger.

‘You’re right. I’ve been lying. I never looked back. I was too busy running away.’

‘Why?’

Margery hesitated again. ‘I saw him do it. I saw him jump. I was trying to pass as quickly as I could. The poor man needed someone to help him and I went on by.’ Her eyes welled again, and she wiped them angrily, as though they were traitors. ‘He was right beside me. He looked straight at me, smiled the kind of sad smile of someone who was grieving, and stepped off the cliff.’

She paused, wrestling with something. ‘I saw him jump.’

‘Did he say anything?’ Harri asked.

Margery nodded. ‘ “They’re going to think I murdered her.” ’

‘He said that?’

‘Yes,’ Margery replied. ‘A man died because I walked on. Too cold. Too distant.’

She fixed her hair with a resentful stare, but Harri didn’t care about the old woman any more. Her mind was turning over questions. Had guilt driven David Asha to suicide? Had he played a part in his wife’s death?

‘His statement, what he said, that might be important,’ Harri suggested. ‘Why didn’t you tell the police?’

‘You think I want that on a file somewhere? That I watched a man jump to his death?’ Margery Allen asked.