‘Oh, nothing really. That Clive kept himself to himself.’

He seems satisfied with this response. I daren’t tell him I’m on the way to the Funky Raven to ask the landlord why Clive had been barred.

He thrusts his hands into his pockets and toes the lawn with his boot. ‘Yes, well, I think Clive made a few enemies along the way, if truth be told. He got into something dodgy back in Bristol. He didn’t say what – but I got the impression he was running away, hence the move out here.’

‘Do you think the woman who killed Clive and your mum was hired?’ Jack pipes up from behind me. I turn to glare at him. I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking the questions. Why is Jack so obsessed by that ridiculous, far-fetched theory?

Norman looks shocked. ‘But why kill my mum? She’s done nothing wrong. She was just an old lady.’ He runs his hand along his bald patch, and mumbles, as if to himself, ‘To be shot like that by a woman. I’ve heard the suspect is a wife and mother. Clive’s no angel, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t help but think they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, y’know. This woman obviously has a screw loose and just snapped.’ He bends down to pat Hulk’s head.

I haven’t even mentioned to Jack yet what Margot told me the other night. That Deirdre had once stayed at the caravan park and Heather had met her. Was that just a coincidence?

And if Heather had just ‘snapped’, why had she got into the car and driven here? Why had she been in Bristol – near Clive’s house – earlier that morning? Had she been looking for him?

Norman turns away, his face set, and begins picking up the dead flowers strewn on the lawn, throwing them into a black bin liner, Hulk at his heels. But I can tell from his body language there’s something he’s not saying.

Chapter 27

27

August 1994