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Chapters (53)
  1. Title page
  2. Dedication page
  3. Contents
  4. Acknowledgements
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Chapter Six
  11. Chapter Seven
  12. Chapter Eight
  13. Chapter Nine
  14. Chapter Ten
  15. Chapter Eleven
  16. Chapter Twelve
  17. Chapter Thirteen
  18. Chapter Fourteen
  19. Chapter Fifteen
  20. Chapter Sixteen
  21. Chapter Seventeen
  22. Chapter Eighteen
  23. Chapter Nineteen
  24. Chapter Twenty
  25. Chapter Twenty-One
  26. Chapter Twenty-Two
  27. Chapter Twenty-Three
  28. Chapter Twenty-Four
  29. Chapter Twenty-Five
  30. Chapter Twenty-Six
  31. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  32. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  33. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  34. Chapter Thirty
  35. Chapter Thirty-One
  36. Chapter Thirty-Two
  37. Chapter Thirty-Three
  38. Chapter Thirty-Four
  39. Chapter Thirty-Five
  40. Chapter Thirty-Six
  41. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  42. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  43. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  44. Chapter Forty
  45. Chapter Forty-One
  46. Chapter Forty-Two
  47. Chapter Forty-Three
  48. Chapter Forty-Four
  49. Chapter Forty-Five
  50. Chapter Forty-Six
  51. Chapter Forty-Seven
  52. By Ann Cleeves
  53. Copyright page

He didn’t answer immediately and, when he did, she wasn’t sure that she understood him. ‘I think this is just the sort of room that her art came from. She said she gloried in the commonplace made weird. And it is kind of weird, isn’t it?’

On the other side of a narrow hall – more laminate flooring and an ornate gilt mirror – were the bedrooms. The landlord had obviously been determined to squeeze as many people as possible into the house, so there were twin beds in the larger room and a single in the boxroom at the back. Willow thought they had probably been furnished entirely from charity shops. Perez opened the wardrobe in the big room. It was empty.

‘We’ll contact the landlord tomorrow and see if she’s given notice. It looks as if she might have done a runner.’ Though Willow thought that if she was planning to leave a place she’d have drunk the Chablis first.

In the boxroom the bed hadn’t been made up. Grey blankets were folded on a bentwood chair. There was no room for any other furniture. The wooden stairs to the loft were so steep that they were almost like a ladder. Willow went first and Perez followed. She was aware of him climbing behind her and could hear his gentle breathing. At the top she paused, with a sudden sensation of anticipation, fear even. The image of another body flashed into her mind. She pictured Monica Leaze, who was obviously tied into this case and had so much to tell them, lying dead on the attic floor.

But she knew she was being ridiculous. There was no stink of decay, no sign of a forced entry into the house. She hauled herself to her feet and looked around her. Here, for the first time, there was a sense that the artist had put her own stamp on the place. The floorboards were bare. No attempt had been made to sand or varnish them and in places there were splashes of paint. A big scrubbed pine table stood under one of the sloping windows and beside it there was an easel. From the window the view was out over a low-lying meadow to the water. There were no paints or brushes, and no cupboard where they might be stored. Monica must have packed them all away and taken them with her.

But she had left the easel. Perez had followed Willow into the room and was standing looking at it, his first point of reference. A piece of thick cream paper had been clipped to the easel and on it Monica had been making a pencil drawing. A woman lying on her back in a long, flowing dress. The background shaded. It was a sketch of Eleanor Longstaff lying dead in the loch at Meoness.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six