‘I know,’ says Jess, through a mouthful of chicken. She pauses to swallow before adding, ‘Deirdre only bought the house in Shackleton Road back in February and already he’d managed to get barred from the local pub.’ She has a self-satisfied look on her face. But then her expression changes and she seems rattled. She reaches for the bag at her feet, and retrieves something, then hands it across the table to Margot. It’s a slightly unfocused photograph of Jess printed on thin paper.

‘It was on my windscreen tonight. If you turn it over …’

Margot does as Jess says and reels when she sees ‘BACK OFF’. The letters are written so thickly that she’s surprised they haven’t scored through the paper. ‘Have you shown the police?’

Jess shakes her messy blonde bob. ‘Not yet, no. But today I was trying to find out more about Clive. I wondered if this was from Norman.’

Margot gives back the photograph and Jess returns it to her bag. ‘Really? I know I’ve only just met him, and briefly, but he didn’t seem threatening.’

They eat in silence for a few moments. And then Jess pipes up, ‘I get the impression Norman’s hiding something, though. Or someone else could be scaring me off.’ She stares at Margot, as though expecting her to suggest who that person might be. When Margot doesn’t reply, she adds, ‘And there’s more.’

Margot’s insides turn over and she puts down her knife and fork. She doesn’t know if she can take any more revelations. Her nerves are frayed enough as it is. ‘Go on.’

‘The landlord saw Adam in the pub, talking to Clive.’

Margot’s head swims and she has to hold onto the edge of the table to steady herself. ‘But that can’t be right. Adam said he’d never met either of the Wilsons.’

Jess looks at her and Margot detects pity in her eyes. Stupid, foolish, naïve Margot, that look says, believing your gruff and uncommunicative son-in-law.

Margot clutches the gold locket at her throat. Heather had given it to her one Christmas, a few years after Flora went missing. Inside there is a tiny photograph of her, Flora and Heather.

The other fingerprints on the gun. Adam had said one set was his, the other undetected. She’d taken it for granted that Adam’s fingerprints were on it because he’d used it before. But now … now … Her head spins. The neighbour spoke of seeing a woman leaving the Wilsons’ house. A woman they’ve identified as Heather, her car leaving the scene. Not Adam. Heather. But what about afterwards? In the barn. Maybe Heather hadn’t shot herself. Somebody else could have done that. Was it Adam? Was it a plan between them that had gone wrong?