‘Do you mind?’ His bushy grey eyebrows crawl up like caterpillars. He strides across the yard and, having little choice, Gwen follows behind. Kip springs up to trot alongside her; she appreciates his devotion. With a flair for the dramatic, the Inspector leaps up the steps two at a time, landing firmly on the path. ‘So here? And roughly in what direction do you think the sound came from?’

‘It’s hard to tell,’ Gwen says, resentful of his presence. ‘It was dark, it was windy, sounds get distorted at night.’

‘But roughly, if you had to say?’

She shrugs, her mouth thin with petulance. ‘That way, I suppose.’ She gestures vaguely before her, towards the woods that wrap round the swell of the valley. The woods, she realises, that ring the Allingham estate.

The Inspector scribbles in his notepad. ‘You don’t mind? Locking up the farm alone … at night … in the dark?’

‘I’ve been locking up this farm on my own for years. My husband has been away fighting for his country for the last six.’ She bites back the urge to ask him how he spent the war.

‘Of course,’ he smiles. ‘And as you pointed out, you know the sound of a shotgun. I presume you own one yourself, Mrs Ellison?’

‘I do.’

‘Might I just take a look, do you think?’

‘At my shotgun?’

‘If you’ve no objection?’

It crosses her mind she should refuse, but she doesn’t know her rights – and she doesn’t know whether such a refusal might convey some guilt. All the same, she worries about the implications for Jack.

‘Do I have to? I mean … legally?’ she asks at last.

‘It’s probably easier for everyone in the long run, Mrs Ellison, if you cooperate voluntarily – saves us all so much paperwork and stress – and if you’ve nothing to hide … why wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes … of course.’ He steps back from the path to let her pass. The kitchen window is ajar and she can hear Muriel talking to Tom. She pushes open the door but uses her body to keep the Inspector out of sight.

‘Oh, there you are …’ Muriel starts, but her voice fails as she sees the fear in Gwen’s eyes.

‘Can you take Tom upstairs for a minute?’

‘Mummy!’ Tom looks up from his drawing. His crayons lie scattered across the table.

‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Tom. I have a visitor I need to speak to. I want you to go upstairs to your room with Muriel, please.’ Her tone is strict, warning him she will brook no nonsense, and for once he complies without complaint.

‘Come on, Tom,’ Muriel hastily dries her hands on a tea towel and ushers him from the room. Only when they have gone, does Gwen open the door further and permit the Inspector entry.