Frayne’s eyes bored into her. ‘So you’re saying the conversation was an amicable one?’

‘Yes. I was only there for… I don’t know, it can’t have been more than twenty minutes. He signed the papers. I’ve got them right here.’ She jumped up off the sofa, went over to the table, picked them up and thrust them into the inspector’s hands. ‘I got what I wanted so why would I… There wouldn’t be a reason, would there?’ She sat back down on the sofa beside Joel. ‘He was fine when I left. I swear he was. He was absolutely fine.’

Frayne glanced down at the papers. ‘Do you mind if I hold on to these?’

Sadie was about to say that she needed them, that she had to send them to the solicitor, when she suddenly realised that none of that was necessary now. Eddie was dead. Legally, she was a widow. The reality of his murder, the horror, hit her again and she leaned forward and put her head in her hands. Bile rose into her throat. She had wanted to be free but not like this. She had never wanted it to end in this way.

‘Do we really have to do this now?’ Joel asked the inspector. ‘Couldn’t you come back later or tomorrow? It’s been a shock. It’s all too much.’

Sadie raised her head and rubbed at her face. ‘No, it’s all right. I’m okay. I’d rather get it over with.’ She nodded at Frayne. ‘What else do you want to know?’

Frayne kept his eyes on her, sharp brown eyes that held more than a hint of intelligence. ‘Where did the conversation take place between you and Eddie? Whereabouts in the flat?’

‘In the living room.’

‘And did you go anywhere else while you were there – to the bathroom perhaps, or the kitchen?’

Sadie shook her head. ‘No. Eddie went to the kitchen to make coffee but I didn’t go with him.’ She noticed the constable glance up from his scribbling and sensed that the question was an important one. ‘He was only gone a few minutes.’

‘And you definitely didn’t follow him, not even to the doorway?’

‘No, I stayed on the sofa. I didn’t move from there until I left.’

‘And that would have been at what time?’

Sadie frowned. ‘I can’t say exactly. It was probably around nine. I don’t think I was there for more than twenty minutes.’

‘Where you wearing gloves?’ Frayne asked.

The question surprised her. ‘What? No, no I wasn’t.’

‘We’ll need you to come down to the station at some point so we can take a set of prints. Do you remember what you touched while you were in the flat?’

Sadie racked her brains, trying to recreate the scene in her head. ‘The coffee table, I suppose. I’m not sure. I put the papers down on it. And the mug I drank from. And the front door; I opened that on the way out. Otherwise, I don’t… Oh yes, there was a pen too. I leant him a biro, one of those yellow Bic ones, and forgot to take it back it again.’ Had there been anything else? ‘I think that’s it, apart from the sofa and the cushions.’

Frayne sat back and crossed his legs. ‘What kind of a mood would you say Eddie was in? I mean, generally. Did he seem worried about anything?’

‘No. He was just… just Eddie. I think he had a bit of a hangover, but that was nothing unusual.’

‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him, anyone who held a grudge?’

‘No,’ she said again. ‘But like I told you, I haven’t seen him for years. I don’t know who he was hanging around with, what he was doing. I don’t know anything about his life now.’ No sooner had she said it than that icy shock ran through her again. There was no life now. Eddie was dead. He was gone for ever. Quickly she added, ‘Eddie had his faults but on the whole people liked him. He was an easy-going sort of person, probably too easy-going. Nothing ever bothered him. He wasn’t the type to go looking for trouble.’

‘And so you left the flat at about nine o’clock. What did you do then?’

‘I walked back to Oaklands, packed my things and told Mrs Cuthbert – she’s the woman who runs the guesthouse – that I was leaving. I suppose by then it was about ten to ten. I went straight to the station but I had to wait for a train to Liverpool Street. It was Sunday service so they weren’t that frequent. From there I caught a tube to Euston, changing at King’s Cross. Then I had another wait until I could get a train to Manchester. I took the one that left just after midday.’

‘And that got in at?’

‘Around two-forty. I caught the next train to Haverlea and then got a bus back here. I was home at about a quarter to four.’

‘Quite a journey. Do you still have your ticket from London?’

‘No, I had to hand it in at the station.’

‘Did you talk to anyone on the train?’

Sadie shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ It was then, suddenly, that she remembered Mona Farrell and the crazy conversation she’d had with her on the way to Kellston. Her heart gave a jolt. But she couldn’t have had anything to do with this. The girl had been odd, there was no denying it, but it had just been talk. She couldn’t have killed Eddie. She didn’t even know where he lived.

Frayne must have seen a change in her face because his gaze grew more intense. ‘Are you sure?’

Sadie hesitated. Should she tell him? But then she thought about how weird it would sound, like some ludicrous story she’d made up in order to deflect suspicion from herself. And the only reason she’d do that was because she had something to hide. No, she was better off keeping quiet. ‘Only the guy who punched my ticket. We had one of those meaningless exchanges about the weather. He might remember me. I don’t know.’

The inspector continued to stare at her as if he knew that she was lying.

Sadie forced herself to meet his eyes, to feign an honesty she wasn’t feeling. But to tell him would make matters worse. They already suspected her – she was sure of it – and mentioning Mona Farrell would only muddy the waters.

There was a short silence before Frayne turned his attention to Joel. ‘And you, Mr Hunter? What were you doing yesterday?’

Joel was startled by the question. ‘Me?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Why do you want to know that?’

Frayne gave him a wry smile. ‘We’re investigating a murder, Mr Hunter. We want to know everything.’

And Sadie instantly understood why they were asking. They thought Joel might be involved, that they had killed Eddie together.

‘I was here,’ Joel said. ‘I mean, I was in Haverlea. I went to church in the morning, St Matthew’s on Bench Street, then lunch with my parents, and in the afternoon I did the VAT.’

PC Turner took all this down in his notebook. Sadie knew that they would check the alibis, that they’d ask the vicar and Joel’s parents. It wouldn’t be long before everyone heard about the murder of Eddie Wise and the small-town gossips would have a field day. She wasn’t bothered on her own account, but it wasn’t fair on Joel. He was about to be dragged into something that had nothing to do with him.

‘Do you live here together?’ Frayne asked.

‘Yes,’ said Sadie, at exactly the same time as Joel said, ‘No.’

Frayne’s eyebrows arched.

‘Not exactly,’ Joel explained. ‘I’ve got the flat downstairs and work space on the ground floor, but we spend most of our free time here.’

‘And do you have a job?’ Frayne asked Sadie.

‘The bookshop in town,’ she said. ‘Peterson’s. But I’ve got the week off. I’m not going back until next Monday.’

Frayne studied them both for a moment and then slowly rose to his feet. ‘Well, thank you for your time. I think that’s about it for now. We may have some more questions so please don’t leave Haverlea without informing us.’

‘How did… how did Eddie die?’ Sadie asked, standing up too as the inspector headed for the door. ‘What happened to him?’

Inspector Frayne turned and looked at her. ‘He was stabbed through the heart.’

Sadie closed her eyes, her mouth twisting. Had he suffered? Had he been in pain? These were questions she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Not yet. She needed time for it all to sink in first. When she looked again, the two officers had left the room.