She made a space for the clothing on her workbench, between the scalpel blades, insect pins, tongue depressors, pliers, rubber mallet and staple gun. The fluorescent light hummed overhead, and an incessant leak dripped somewhere in the dark corner of the garage.

She kneeled to search through her taxidermy supplies. Tucked neatly beside the bar fridge was a large plastic tub. She slid it out, popped the lid and riffled through plastic bottles, glass vials and jars, searching for the luminol. As well as playing a small part in the taxidermy clean-up process, luminol was used by forensic investigators to detect trace amounts of blood at crime scenes. When it came into contact with the iron in blood, it emitted a blue glow that could be seen in a darkened room.

Being careful to distribute the chemical evenly and thoroughly, Abby sprayed the trousers, shirt and boots, praying the garage door wouldn’t swing open to admit Ray’s truck. When she was sure she’d used enough luminol, all she needed to do was turn out the lights. If the luminol found blood, she’d know right away. She took hold of the pull-string light switch in the middle of the garage, and took three deep breaths.

19

THE WIDOW

Inside the black metal lock-box was a one-paragraph obituary, cut neatly from a newspaper. Age had turned the paper yellow and water damage had blurred the ink in places, but it was still readable:

STEMPLE, David E.

Taken from this world on the 7th of August 1996. Wait for us on the other side, Dave. Survived by two loving sisters, a cherished son, and beloved wife, Annabel.

‘Who’s David Stemple?’ Fisher asked when Kate handed him the death notice to read. They were in his room at the Blue Whale Motor Inn. Fisher was sitting at the desk, ready for a shower, a soft blue towel draped around his shoulders like a pet snake.

‘I have no idea,’ Kate said. ‘But I found this locked inside a box in the attic of the holiday house.’

‘The house? You went back there? Kate, that’s a crime scene.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘Detective Eckman specifically told us not to—’

‘I know, Fisher. I just … I was sick of feeling so powerless.’

‘Do me a favour and stand still,’ Fisher said. ‘You’re moving so fast it’s making me feel nauseous.’

She had been pacing the length of the small motel room since she’d arrived, but now she sat down on the bed and stuffed her hands beneath her legs. Fisher really did look nauseous, but Kate thought it might have more to do with the Chivas.