‘I’m a detective. My name’s Jimmy Perez. I’m just checking some details concerning Anna Blackwell’s death.’

‘But she killed herself.’ Gail was still staring. ‘According to the local police the case has been closed.’

Something in her eyes made him ask, ‘Do you think it shouldn’t have been?’

She looked at him carefully. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I can’t stay here and chat. I’ve got to get home for a delivery of feed for my hens. Why don’t you come too and we can talk? I might even find some soup for your lunch. I’ve got to come back to Stonebridge to collect my little girl from school at three o’clock and I can give you a lift back then.’

So Perez climbed in beside her and Gail drove out of the village. It seemed like a sort of escape. He realised how trapped he’d been feeling in the village with its bitchy women and the dark woods all around it.

They took a lane that rose sharply away from the river, and as they rounded a corner there was a view of a whitewashed house at the end of a rough track. ‘I love this place,’ Gail said. ‘I was born here and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.’

She parked the Land Rover in the farmyard. Perez could see sheep on the hill behind the house and hens in a small orchard beside the yard. He thought it looked like a child’s idea of a farm rather than the real thing – it could have come from a picture book. Gail seemed to read his thoughts.

‘It’s only a smallholding really,’ she said. ‘My parents sold off most of the land years ago. Now my brother and I run it almost as a hobby. We’re trying our best to make a go of it. Sandy has a full-time job working for the forestry commission, and that just about keeps us afloat.’

‘What does your husband do?’

There was a moment’s silence and then Gail answered:

‘He died three months ago in a car crash. He had real plans for the place. He thought we should turn some of the buildings into holiday lets. Without him I can’t seem to work up the same passion for the project, but I’ll try to make a go of it as a tribute to him.’

She opened the farmhouse door and led him into a cluttered kitchen. ‘Will you have some soup?’

He nodded and sat at the table. He thought how strong she must be to carry on with her everyday life when her husband had so recently passed away. Perez had been good for nothing for months after Fran had been killed. He’d just brooded.

‘Lucy Blackwell stayed here the night Anna died?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘My daughter Grace is best friends with Lucy. They’re both only children, so it was good that they each had someone to play with. Lucy loved it here. All this space is perfect for children and she enjoyed helping with the animals.’ Gail slid a pan onto the hotplate of the range. ‘Grace is so sad that Lucy’s moved away.’