She held out the glass. ‘Another!’

‘I think you’ve had enough.’ Hawthorne reached out and took the glass from her hand. ‘Let me tell you how I see it. First of all, I think Major Alden was wrong. That business with the library books … tearing out pages and all the rest of it. Stephen Longhurst would never have done that. It’s the one thing we know about him. He loved books. If he and Wayne wanted to hurt your husband, it wasn’t because he wouldn’t let them go to Bath Spa, it was because he’d accused them of something they didn’t do.’

‘You’re being ridiculous. How can you possibly know? And anyway, it was a tiny incident, a long, long time ago.’

‘A tiny incident that led to your husband’s death. Are you denying it?’

‘I’m not saying anything!’

‘Then let me tell you. Because there’s something else I know. Wayne was the older of the two boys and, coming from a council estate, everyone assumed he was the one who instigated the bad behaviour. He was the ringleader. But in fact it was the other way round. Wayne was the innocent one. Stephen was the one in charge.’

‘Why are you telling me this? Why does it matter any more?’

‘Because Wayne got ten years in a secure unit and Stephen only got five.’ Hawthorne paused, fixing her with his gaze. He leaned forward before he spoke again. ‘Did you testify in court, Mrs Alden?’

Rosemary Alden caught her breath. The colour had drained out of her face, leaving her make-up sitting as if on parchment. At last she replied. ‘I gave a statement. Yes.’

‘A false statement. Because the Longhursts’ lawyers got to you, didn’t they? They told you to say that Wayne was the troublemaker, that Stephen didn’t know what he was doing. And this is what you got out of it. This cottage. Somewhere to live. You supported their version of events and this place was your reward.’

‘No!’ Rosemary Alden was sitting bolt upright in her chair. It was as if she had been electrocuted. ‘Get out of here!’ she quavered, her voice catching in her throat.

‘I’ll leave when you’ve told me what I want to know.’

‘Tara … !’

‘Tara’s not here. You sent her away.’

Hawthorne was ferocious. It didn’t bother him that the subject of his interrogation was sick and in her seventies. I was seriously worried Rosemary might have a fatal heart attack or another stroke. Cara Grunshaw would love that. Another death – five minutes after I’d been in the room.

‘Who defaced the library books?’ Hawthorne asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘But it wasn’t Stephen or Wayne!’

‘I don’t know who it was!’ She struggled for breath. ‘Nor did Philip …’

And there it was, finally, the admission.

‘Philip knew it wasn’t them,’ she went on. ‘He told me! He couldn’t find the real culprits, so he decided to make them an example.’

‘And the rest of it?’