She can see Colin moving about in the caravan next door so she suggests to Ruthgow they go into the house. She doesn’t want Colin to hear anything that the detective might have to say. She’s not fussy to whom she lets her caravans, or who pitches a tent in her field, as long as they look after the place, are clean and tidy and pay their way. But there’s something about Colin that she can’t put her finger on. Something that makes her feel uneasy. She often wonders if he’s running away, hiding out in the back of beyond. Either that or he’s just a loner. He’s got to be in his late fifties at least, with a paunch and a haggard face, wearing the same cable-knit sweater and brown cords day after day. Yet he’s been renting the caravan for nearly six months now and seems to have no intention of moving on any time soon. She can’t complain, though. It’s an income. She’s never had much time for small-talk with the customers, but she’s seen Heather talking to him. Heather seemed quite fond of him, bringing him cups of tea and cooking extra casserole for him. Her daughter always was soft-hearted. The irony isn’t lost on her that that same woman is now the only suspect in a double shooting.

Margot locks the caravan behind her and picks up the basket of cleaning paraphernalia at her feet. ‘Come on, then. I’ll put the kettle on. It’s cold out here.’ As they trudge across the field she gabbles at him, asking how he’s been and if he enjoys living in Bristol. What she’d really like to ask is whether he ever thinks about her. Or Flora, the girl he couldn’t save.

Ruthgow follows her through to the kitchen and she tells him to take a seat. Does it feel weird for him, she wonders, being here again after all these years? Another Powell daughter, another case. She sees him glance at the framed photograph of Flora and Heather on the wall. Everybody notices that photo when they come into the kitchen, even if they’ve been here many times before, and they all get the same look on their face: a mixture of sadness and relief that it’s not their loved one who’s gone.