WPC DARBY SHOWED me into a small room. There were red and pink plastic flowers in a jug on the desk, and more flowers—yellow this time, a copy of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers—in a framed picture on the wall. I sat down and she sat opposite me, folding her hands on the desk. They were broad and strong, with bitten nails. No rings on her fingers. I looked at her face, weathered, shrewd and pleasantly plain under her severely cut hair, and was satisfied that she was the right person to tell. There was some meaningless chat and then I stopped.

“It’s not the way it seemed,” I said.

She leaned toward me slightly, her gray eyes on my face.

“I don’t believe he was having an affair with Milena Livingstone.”

Her expression didn’t waver. She just went on looking at me and waiting for me to speak.

“Actually I don’t think they even knew each other.”

She gave a nervous smile and when she spoke it was clearly and slowly, as if I was a small child. “They were in the same car.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said. “It’s a mystery. I think you ought to look at it again.”

In the silence, I could hear the voices in the corridor outside. WPC Darby steepled her fingers and took a deep breath. I knew what she was going to say before she said it.

“Ms. Falkner, your husband died in a car crash.”

“He wasn’t wearing his seat belt—but Greg always wore it. You have to investigate further.”

“The coroner was perfectly satisfied that it was a tragic accident and that no other vehicle was involved. I understand that the fact he was with another woman is unsettling and upsetting for you. As a matter of evidence, how they knew each other doesn’t matter.”

“There’s no evidence at all, of any kind,” I said. “Nothing to show that he knew her.”

Again, I anticipated what she was going to say. “If he was having an affair and keeping it secret, then perhaps that’s not surprising.”

“I’m telling you, he didn’t know her.”

“No. You’re telling me you don’t believe he knew her.”

“It amounts to the same thing.”

“With all due respect, it does not. What you believe and what is true are not necessarily the same thing.”

“So you’re just going to let things lie?”

“Yes. And I would advise you to do the same. You might consider seeing someone about—”

“You think I need bereavement counseling? Professional help?”

“I think you’ve had a terrible shock and are having difficulty in coming to terms with it.”

“If anyone says ‘coming to terms’ to me again, I think I’ll scream.”

Chapter Ten