I nod. ‘She’s painfully shy – and damaged by her father. You know …’ I break off, thinking. ‘There are a lot of people who are all too keen to hint at what other people know. James Hampton said I should talk to Andrew Buckley. Buckley doesn’t give anything away and when he does speak, you can’t believe a single word. Ida Jones hints that various things have happened – like James Hampton and his first wife went through a rocky patch – but Hampton hasn’t mentioned it to me, and until now, Ida Jones hadn’t, either. Then there’s this whole story around Hollie and Dylan, neither of whom are still alive to tell us what really happened.’

The DI frowns. ‘Very well. Go and talk to her again.’

I nod. ‘They’re on their way to the B and B. I’ll check to see if they’ve arrived.’

*

I drive along the narrow road that carves its way through miles of downland pasture, the landscape painted in hues of verdant green as I pass a flock of sheep and newborn lambs, suddenly hankering after a much simpler life, like the one I imagine Chris Nelson has. He’s the retired detective superintendent who runs Mitchelgrove Farm, where Elise and Niamh are staying.

The small cottage Chris lets out from time to time stands in its own garden, away from his farmhouse, a dense beech hedge affording its occupants privacy. And his background presence is a safety net. After a career of policing, Chris misses nothing.

When I pull up outside his house, he wanders outside holding a mug of tea.

‘Jo … They arrived about an hour ago.’ As he nods towards the cottage, I make out Elise’s car parked in front of it.

‘Thanks for having them here. You look well, Chris.’

‘You’re welcome. Always happy to help in the war against the underworld. I don’t suppose it changes much.’ His face lightly tanned, he has the ease of a man who’s comfortable in his own skin. ‘I’ve left them some supplies and I’ll take them bread and milk tomorrow. They’ll be fine for a few days.’

‘Her husband is a piece of work. He’s hiding something – I’m sure of it. Everyone in this case seems to be hiding something.’ I look at him. ‘I bet you don’t miss any of this.’

He’s relaxed as he nods. ‘Not really. There’s the odd occasion, but I could never give this up.’ I follow his eyes across the patchwork of fields – some of them dotted with grazing animals – and the motley assembly of barns. ‘One of those cases, is it?’ His voice is more serious.

‘You could say that. One of those villages where everyone has a secret. I’d better go and talk to them.’