Josephine sat back in her chair as if in consideration, but Frankie could see she’d taken the bait. “What can we do for you?”

Frankie took a deep breath. “There was a reporter on this paper back in 1997. Her name was June Stevens.” She watched Josephine in vain for any flicker of recognition. “We believe she was working on a story just before she committed suicide. Is there anyone we can talk to who was working with her at the time?”

Josephine shook her head. “The Courier has only ever had two reporters on the books at the same time since the turn of the century. I’ve been here just over six months. I replaced the previous chief reporter who retired last year. The only other reporter is the junior, straight out of high school. He’ll last a year at most, then another youngster will take his place.” She smiled conspiratorially at Frankie. “We take them on as apprentices, a government scheme that allows us to pay them minimum wage. Someone has to write up the hatched, matched and dispatched.” Her smile returned even more broadly, pleased to have learnt a new turn of phrase that sounded almost poetic when spoken in a foreign tongue.

“Would you have her notebook, or a copy of any notes she may have left from that time?”

Josephine made a note on a pad lying open on the desk between them. “Suicide? I can have a look in the archives. Why is this important? How does it connect to the murder?”

Frankie let the word ‘murder’ slip this time. “We don’t know if there is a connection, but we have to investigate the apparent coincidence of them both dying at the same location.” She looked directly into Josephine’s eyes so there was no room for any misunderstanding. “We found a coin under the tree, it hadn’t been there for more than a few days. It was minted the same year June Stevens died, that’s why we need to look into any connection. You can’t use any of this in your reporting, you understand?”

The reporter nodded just once, quick and efficient. “We are a reputable newspaper, Frankie, and would not want to compromise your investigations in any way.”

Frankie relaxed slightly, maybe this was going better than she’d initially thought.

“Tell me, did Oscar come as he died on the tree?”

“What did you say?” She thought she’d misheard the question, or Josephine’s grasp of English wasn’t as perfect as it had first appeared.

“I wondered if he died with an erection, whether there was semen on his underwear. I’ve heard that this can happen when a man dies on the gallows.”

Frankie looked askance at the reporter. There were limits. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that – and if I did I would be the last person to tell you.”

Josephine looked unperturbed at her outburst. “Well, what can you tell me about the murder of the minister?”

Frankie’s moment of self-congratulation at her handling of the press evaporated before it had a chance to attain any sense of permanence. “What do you mean, murder?” Her words sounded like bluster, even to her own ears.