I rearrange my legs, which are starting to go numb. ‘So, you weren’t aware of any enemies he might have had?’

‘Hmm. Well, the landlord of the Funky Raven for starters. And there might have been others.’

‘What’s the landlord’s name?’

‘Stuart Patterson. He’s a nice guy. Friendly. I don’t know what Clive did to get on his wrong side because, as far as I’m aware, it’s quite hard to piss off Stu.’

I decide that’s our next destination. I stand up. Jack does too, looking relieved to be going.

Netta follows suit, glancing at Jack’s camera fearfully. ‘You don’t want to take my photo, do you?’

Jack grins. ‘No, don’t worry.’

‘Phew. I look a mess.’ She pats her expensively highlighted waves. Even though she’s ill, it’s still obvious she’s an attractive woman.

‘Thank you for your time,’ I say, as she shows us out. ‘And you’re happy for us to name you in the newspaper?’

‘Of course. My fifteen minutes of fame.’ Her gaze goes over my shoulder to Jack. ‘And if you want a photo, do come back another time when I’m in a better state.’ I’m sure she winks at him. Then she closes the door on us.

‘Think you’ve got a fan there.’

He laughs. ‘Well, you’ve either got it or you haven’t. Maybe she likes the vulnerable look.’ He indicates his black eye that’s now turning purple. I’m just about to retaliate when I freeze. There’s a man in Clive and Deirdre’s front garden. He’s bent over a dying bouquet of daffodils, anger on his face, a fluffy dog that looks like a bear at his feet. I prod Jack in the shoulder blades and incline my head towards him. Jack widens his eyes and clears his throat.

There’s only a small wired fence between the two front gardens and the man looks up. He’s tall and lean, with receding grey hair. He’s wearing a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and a padded black coat. His face is long, thin and weathered.

‘Hi,’ he says, looking a little shifty and leaning back on his heels. ‘I’m not trespassing. My brother and my mum used to live here.’ He indicates the dog. ‘This is Hulk.’

I recognize his voice instantly from the phone conversation we had. He looks older than I imagined, though, and more scraggy. ‘Norman? I’m Jess from the Herald. We spoke last week.’

His eyes light up in recognition and he shakes my hand heartily over the fence. ‘What are you doing here?’

I quickly explain about the card I found with the flowers. ‘So I’ve just been asking the neighbours if they know if anybody had a grudge against him.’

Something dark passes across Norman’s face. ‘And what have they been saying?’