‘A red Ford Ka,’ Irvine said promptly.

Cooper nodded. And there it was. A red Ford Ka, tucked into a tight parking area at the side of the cottage, where it was just clear of the road. Did Sandra get a lift from someone else last night to the place where she’d met her death? Or was she another bike owner, like Rob Beresford? Cooper’s money was on the first possibility – it would certainly be much more helpful to the investigation. The second option seemed like too much of a coincidence, at the very least.

‘When we’ve finished in the cottage, the neighbours will have to be spoken to,’ said Cooper.

‘We’ll be looking for anyone who witnessed Mrs Blair leaving home last night,’ said Irvine, looking over the Ka.

‘Or, failing that, someone who can help us to narrow down the time. If a neighbour can confirm when she was still at home, that would help a bit. And of course—’

‘Any sightings of a vehicle calling at Pilsbury Cottage,’ added Irvine. ‘Or the name of a boyfriend, anyone she might have been going out with last night?’

‘Very good, Luke.’

Irvine peered through the driver’s window of the Ford. ‘Are the car keys on the ring with those for the house?’

Cooper jingled the keys. ‘No. Let’s see if they’re inside.’

‘Shouldn’t we knock first?’ asked Irvine.

‘Why?’

‘Well, just in case … there might be someone at home.’

‘Go ahead, then.’

Irvine gave a loud rap on the front door, while Cooper waited, rattling the keys. He was conscious of faces appearing at windows nearby, wondering who they were and what they were up to. There might be a few calls to the local station shortly.

‘Happy now?’ said Cooper when there was no reply.

Diane Fry twisted uncomfortably at her desk in the Major Crime Unit at St Ann’s in Nottingham. She wasn’t happy.

Fry had just come back from a meeting with her DCI, Alistair Mackenzie.

‘We can’t just leave them to get on with it,’ he’d said.

‘Why not?’

‘It’s our job.’

It was frustrating being the new girl all over again and not feeling able to argue too much. But Fry felt there were some things that weren’t her job.

‘We’ve got so much else on,’ she said, though she was pointing out the obvious.

Mackenzie was unmoved. ‘It makes no difference, Diane. Besides—’

‘What?’ She could see him getting round to breaking some kind of bad news. He wasn’t sure how she was going to react. Fry knew herself well enough to realise it probably meant she was going to react badly. ‘Sir? What is it?’

‘We’ve had a request from Derbyshire. Specifically, E Division.’

‘No, no, no,’ said Fry. ‘I spent enough time there. I filled in at Divisional CID in Edendale for months while Ben Cooper was on extended sick leave. It was too much. I couldn’t stand going back and doing the same thing again.’

‘That’s not—’ began Mackenzie.

‘Besides, DS Cooper is back at work now. I know he is. I was there when he returned. There can’t be someone else…?’

Mackenzie was shaking his head patiently. ‘No, you’re getting completely the wrong end of the stick, Diane.’

‘Am I?’

Fry tried to restrain herself. But the sudden prospect that had risen in her mind was too scary. After Ben Cooper’s tragedy in the pub fire, she’d been unable to decline the temporary assignment back to E Division, a secondment to take charge of her old team in Divisional CID. A refusal would have been impossible, especially in those circumstances.

And then there had been the unexpected final task, the more personal one for which she was totally unsuited. Breaking bad news, adding another psychological burden to someone who was already down. She had no personal skills for doing that. Ben Cooper must be used to hearing only bad news from her by now. The thought caused an unexpected stab of pain in her abdomen.

‘Let me explain,’ said Mackenzie.

So Fry reluctantly sat and listened to his explanation of the request from Derbyshire. She fidgeted at the thought of the task she was being presented with. It opened up all kinds of possibilities in her mind, some of which were completely unprofessional. She suppressed the flight of imagination immediately. Totally inappropriate.

‘Why me?’ she said when Mackenzie had finished.

The DCI raised his hands. ‘You’re the obvious person. You’ve got to admit that, Diane.’

‘Perhaps.’

He looked at her more seriously. ‘This is a compliment, you know. It’s a sign of how highly you’re regarded. Don’t just throw that away.’

Fry bit her lip. She knew she was going to have to accept. In fact, her mind was already turning over the ways she might approach the task. Her relationship with Ben Cooper was complicated, but she had to put all that aside. Feelings couldn’t come into it. Definitely not.

She gazed back at Mackenzie for a moment, and finally she nodded. There was only one thing to do. She would just have to take the bull by the horns.

7

The interior of Pilsbury Cottage was cramped and dark. The windows in these old cottages were always too small and the ceilings too low. It reminded Cooper that his ancestors must have been people of short stature who spent their time crouched in candlelight huddled against the cold.

‘We need the lights on,’ he said.

‘Here.’

Irvine found the switches and the sitting room sprang into focus. It was still cramped, but the furniture and wallpaper were decorated in a series of bright chintzy patterns that made the light suddenly painful on his tired eyes.

‘Check upstairs for any signs that anyone else has been here,’ said Cooper. ‘Then see if you can find a diary and an address book.’

‘Anyone else? Oh, you mean like a boyfriend?’ said Irvine. ‘Shaver in the bathroom, slippers under the bed?’

‘Possibly.’

While Irvine disappeared upstairs, Cooper stood in the middle of the sitting room and turned through three hundred and sixty degrees to perform a quick survey. The objects scattered around were a little out of the ordinary. They reminded him of the sort of thing his sister Claire collected. Abstract pottery, ethnic art, bowls full of crystals and stacks of scented candles. A Native American dreamcatcher hung from the ceiling and a pack of Tarot cards stood on a bookshelf. One wall was covered with a rug woven in vibrant colours with tribal African figures.

He noticed a large wicker basket next to one of the armchairs by the fireplace. When he lifted the lid, he found balls of wool, scraps of material, knitting needles, a case full of pins and cotton thread, another of buttons and small glass beads.

Cooper saw a phone on a table by the window. He pressed the answering machine button to play back the messages. But a recorded voice told him there weren’t any. Even the old messages had been deleted. There was a calls list function too, but the only recent numbers it showed were listed as unavailable.

That was odd. It was almost like someone was trying to hide their contact history. It certainly wasn’t a normal thing for the victim of a crime to do. People didn’t expect to meet their death when they left the house.

Cooper walked through into the tiny kitchen and found a laptop computer sitting on the table. He looked out of the back door, where there was only a tiny square of garden tucked under the hillside. He could see over a stone wall into a few acres of sheep pasture.

‘Can you see an address book or anything with phone numbers in?’ he called, when he heard Irvine come back downstairs.

Irvine had begun opening and closing drawers in a pine dresser in the sitting room. ‘Not yet. But come and have a look – I’ve found a diary.’

‘Is it a big one?’

‘No, tiny. A little pocket diary.’

‘She didn’t record every detail of her life, then.’

‘No such luck.’