We follow Niamh through the village, past the turning into Greyfriars Lane. Reaching the woods, she stops.

‘I think it was this path.’ She sounds far from certain.

DS May nods. ‘Shall we carry on?’

The ground is damp underfoot as we take a narrow path through the trees, their canopy of branches blocking out the light. When we come to where the path intersects with others, Niamh stops again, a frown crossing her face. ‘I can’t remember which way she went.’

DS May looks at me. ‘Do you know these woods?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t.’ These paths are too narrow and dark. When I run, I like to have space around me.

She gets out her phone. ‘I’ll save the location. We’ll come back in daylight and check this out.’

*

After the police have gone, I turn to Niamh. ‘I can’t believe you and Hollie went onto other people’s properties. How many other times have there been?’

She shakes her head. ‘None. And like I said, we didn’t do any harm. It’s not like there’s anything else to do around here.’

‘Niamh, that doesn’t mean it’s OK to trespass on private land—’

But our conversation ends prematurely. As I’m speaking, Andrew’s car swings into the drive and Niamh gets up and runs upstairs.

*

Thursday arrives, the day of Hollie’s funeral, and for a short while the rain lets up, leaving a watery sky broken by rays of weak sunlight. The path to the churchyard is sodden underfoot as we join the small crowd assembled outside the church, all of us pausing our lives to spend this hour to remember Hollie, while the thought occurs to me. Hollie’s killer could be among us and no-one would know.

We wait while Hollie’s coffin is carried into the church, and as it passes, I notice the posy on top, made up of the spring flowers in delicate shades I saw at Stephanie’s salon last Friday, that seem somehow befitting of Hollie’s ethereal beauty and free spirit.

Inside, my eyes wander towards the front of the congregation, where I catch a glimpse of the back of Stephanie’s head as she stands next to James. I think of her determination not to let anything get in the way of today happening the way she wanted it to. Each step of the way, she’s held her husband’s hand, her show of solidarity with James unfaltering, as though united in their grief. No-one would guess what’s really going on between them.