‘Did she own the house?’ Perez asked.

The man shook his head. ‘She rented it. One of the doctors bought it when it came on the market a few years ago. A kind of investment, I guess. A young couple had it for a few years and then Anna moved in with her kid.’

‘What was the name of the doctor?’ Perez asked, but he thought he already knew.

‘Tom King.’ Another thing Sarah had failed to tell him: that her husband had been Anna Blackwell’s landlord.

‘I’ve lived here for years,’ the man said. ‘I love the place. But the way they treated Anna made me feel sick. I’m not sure I can stay.’

‘How did you find her body?’

‘Anna’s daughter Lucy had been at a friend’s for the night, at a farm just up the hill. When the friend’s mother, Gail Kerr, dropped her home they couldn’t get Anna to open the door. I told them to wait here and I let myself in. Anna had given me a key when she first moved in. For emergencies, she said. Well, that was an emergency.’ He stared into the fire.

‘Where was Anna?’

‘Where the police found her, of course. I called them from the house. There should be a record of that.’ He looked at Perez. ‘You are a cop?’

‘Yes.’ Perez took out his ID card and the man nodded.

‘She was sitting in the living room,’ he said. ‘Slumped over the table next to an empty wine bottle and a glass.’

‘Just one glass?’

‘Aye.’

‘What about the pills? Was there a medicine bottle?’

‘Not that I saw. But I just wanted to call 999 and see if we could save her.’

‘Of course.’ Perez got to his feet. ‘Can you let me have that key?’

The man remained where he was for a moment. ‘I had to come back here and make up a story for the lassie, Anna’s little girl. I told her that her mother was ill. I didn’t have the heart to say that she was already dead.’

Then he went to get the key.

4

The House

Anna’s house was sad. Perez could see the story of her growing depression in it. She must have painted the kitchen when she first arrived, he thought – it was bright yellow. Tom might be the landlord, but he was boring and he wouldn’t have chosen anything so colourful.

As Jimmy walked around, he noticed the floors were sticky and there was dust on the bookshelves. It looked as if Anna had given up on the place. Only a bunch of flowers on the living-room windowsill showed any sign of hope. They were drooping and brown, but they would have been alive on the night that she’d died.

Nobody had been in to clean up since her death. The wine bottle had gone and the glass was on the kitchen counter. The police must have put it with the other mucky pots that stood there waiting to be washed up. Perez could imagine the woman sitting here, alone. He could believe that she’d killed herself. He decided he’d tell Sarah to take no notice of the gossips. This was not a murder after all.