They reached the Old Police Cottage just before Candace left the gates of the Manor and from the window Kate could see her stalwart figure pausing to look both ways at the edge of the road, then walking confidently across, the strong shoulders swinging. Dalgliesh greeted her at the door and led her to a seat at the table and, with Kate, sat opposite. Benton took the fourth chair and, notebook in hand, positioned himself to the right of the door. In her country tweeds and brogues, Candace, he thought, had the assurance of a rural vicar’s wife visiting a backsliding parishioner. But from his seat he could glimpse the only sign of nervousness, a momentary tightening of the hands clasped in her lap. Whatever she had come to tell them, she had taken her time over it, but he had no doubt that she knew precisely what she was prepared to say and how she would phrase it. Without waiting for Dalgliesh to speak, she began her story.

“I have an explanation for what could have happened, what seems to me possible, even probable. It doesn’t reflect well on me but I think you should know of it even if you decide to discount it as fantasy. Robin could have been experimenting with or rehearsing some ludicrous joke and it went disastrously wrong. I need to explain, but it will involve disclosing family affairs which can’t in themselves be relevant to Rhoda Gradwyn’s murder. I take it that what I tell you will be treated as confidential if you’re satisfied that it has no direct bearing on her death.”

Dalgliesh’s words were unemphatic—a statement, not a warning—but they were direct. “It will be for me to decide what is relevant and how far family secrets can be protected. I can’t give any assurances in advance, you must know that.”

“So in this, as in other matters, we have to trust the police. Forgive me, but that doesn’t come easily in an age when newsworthy information is money.”

Dalgliesh said quietly, “My officers do not sell information to newspapers. Miss Westhall, aren’t we wasting time? You have a responsibility to assist my investigation by disclosing any information you have which could be relevant. We have no wish to cause unnecessary distress and have enough problems in processing relevant information without wasting time on matters that are not relevant. If you know how Robin Boyton’s body got into the freezer, or have any information which could help to answer that question, hadn’t we better get on with it?”

If the rebuke stung her she betrayed no sign of it. She said, “Some of it may already be known to you if Robin has spoken to you about his relationship with the family.”