Had Naomi known her better, she would have expressed her concern. She sipped her tea, grateful to be there, but at a loss as to what to say. Had she been in journalistic mode, she would be pushing for answers, but this was a delicate situation. She was living in the home of Petunia’s sister Susan, who, according to Petunia, was dead.

As Petunia turned her grey eyes upon her, she took another rasping breath. ‘My husband, Charlie, was Lloyd’s shift partner until he became sergeant.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Naomi said, as the information was gifted to her.

‘He was a good husband. Dependable. Loyal.’ Petunia stared into her cup, her eyes watery, her expression wistful. ‘I kept my maiden name when we married. Unlike my sister, I don’t believe in giving yourself completely to a man.’

Her words ended in a stuttering cough, and she paused to inhale a lungful of oxygen. Naomi waited, watching as her chest rose and fell.

‘Do you smoke?’ Petunia said, as she rested the mask on the linen tablecloth.

Naomi shook her head.

‘Don’t. It’ll kill you in the end.’ Petunia topped up her cup from the teapot.

Her lips moved silently as she counted the number of times she stirred. It was then that Naomi realised the process of tea-making kept her hands busy. Judging by the yellow tinge on her nails, they were fingers used to holding a cigarette.

‘I remember the night Charlie died,’ Petunia continued, her gaze still far away. ‘He’d found something out about Lloyd, but wouldn’t say what it was. I tried to prise it out of him, but he said he’d talk to me after he’d confronted Lloyd – let him have his say.’ She shook her head, sadness shadowing her face. ‘Little did I know, that would be the last time I’d see him alive.’

Naomi frowned. Another surprise. Why didn’t she know about this? ‘When did this happen?’

Her gaze flitted to the door as footsteps came to a halt outside. Was Mrs Stevens listening in?

It didn’t seem to concern Petunia as she continued to explain. ‘A week after my sister and her family disappeared.’

Naomi had looked into the villagers’ history and old news reports in the local library, but she didn’t recall any mention of the death of a police officer around that time. At this rate, she would be leaving with more questions than answers.

‘Can I ask, how did your husband die?’