“That was very nice,” Alice lied. “Barbara’s a very good cook.”

“She used to be,” Eddie poured them both a generous glass, “before the operation, I mean. I don’t know what happened, but she hasn’t been herself since then. She seems to have forgotten how to cook.”

He looked around the room as if to make sure there were no hidden eavesdroppers.

“Between you and me,” he whispered, “I couldn’t take it any longer. After one piece of rubbery steak too many, I had to get my false teeth reinforced.”

Alice started to laugh. She was beginning to see another side to her doddery next-door neighbour.

By the time the bottle of port was finished, the sun was starting to set. It was Alice’s cue to make her excuses and leave.

“Thank you, Eddie.” She stood up. “It was a lovely evening.”

“We must do it again sometime,” Eddie said. “I promise I’ll cook next time.”

Alice was about to go through to the kitchen to say her goodbyes to Barbara when there was an almighty scream. Eddie and Alice rushed through to the kitchen. Barbara Sedgwick was sitting at the table staring at the small television screen on the wall. She was very pale and her mouth was wide open. On the screen was a blown-up photograph of Milly Lancaster.

CHAPTER TWELVE

DC Taylor woke to the sound of the newspaper landing on the doormat downstairs. The letterbox was still rattling as she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She had barely slept. After the episode up on Merryhead she had decided to see if one sleeping pill would be enough. It had been a bad idea. She had spent the night drifting between periods of semi-slumber and consciousness. After a while, she wasn’t sure whether she was asleep or not.

The only sleep she’d had, included a vivid nightmare. She was in the car with her husband Danny. A truck came towards them in slow motion and she heard Danny scream. Just before impact, the face of the woman who Taylor had only seen in the mortuary filled her vision. Danny’s bit on the side was smiling as she said, “You’ve been such a fool, Harriet Taylor.”

Taylor went downstairs and picked up the newspaper. There was a photograph of Milly Lancaster on the front page. The details were rather vague — just that a car had gone over the cliff at Merryhead and an elderly woman was missing — but at the end there was the part she’d been dreading. The police were asking for “anybody who may have been in contact with Mrs Lancaster between Friday evening and Saturday night to come forward with any information they might have.” The phone number underneath was the number for the switchboard at Trotterdown police station.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Half an hour later, when Taylor arrived at the station, a crowd of journalists was already gathered outside. She pushed through them, ignoring the shouting, and slammed the door with some difficulty. She made her way to her tiny office at the end of the corridor and sat down at her desk.

“It’s going to be chaos for the next few days.” DI Killian stood in the doorway. “The phones are already going crazy.”

He came inside and walked up to the window.

“Look at them,” he said, “even the nationals have got someone out there. We’re going to have to be very careful with this one. Every move we make will be under the microscope.”

“Has anybody reported anything useful?” Taylor asked.

“Mostly time-wasters, but that’s to be expected, I’m afraid. Eric White thought he was onto something, but that one fizzled out. You look tired.”

“I didn’t sleep much last night. Too much on my mind. What’s the plan for today?”

“We wait, we wait some more, and we see what comes in. Someone must have seen something. A car doesn’t go over a cliff without someone noticing.”

Killian was about to say something else when a very red-faced PC Thomas White barged in.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but a man’s just phoned in. A Peter Sugden. He reckons he spoke to Milly Lancaster on Friday night around eight.”

“Where is he now?” Killian asked.

“At home. I got his address and contact number. I told him to expect us some time this morning.”

“Taylor,” Killian said, “You and I are going to have a word with Mr Sugden.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Peter Sugden lived opposite the pub in Polgarrow. Taylor shivered as they drove past Milly Lancaster’s house and parked outside his bungalow.

He answered the door straight away. He was a rotund man with an extremely bulbous nose. From the blotches caused by burst blood vessels on his face, Taylor suspected he liked a drink or two.

“You must be the police,” Sugden said to DI Killian. “Come in, but you’ll have to excuse the mess. The cleaning girl only comes in on Wednesdays.”

He led them inside to a musty-smelling living room. The stale smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

“Take a seat.” He pointed to a three-seater sofa. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No thanks,” Killian said. “You phoned in to say you spoke to Milly Lancaster on Friday evening? Is that correct?”

“Terrible business. If I’d known what was going to happen, I’d have stopped her from getting in the car.”

“What do you mean?” Taylor asked.

“You know. If I’d known she was about to drive off the cliff, of course I would’ve done something to stop her. I couldn’t believe it when I read the paper this morning. Do you mind if I smoke?”

Killian shook his head. Sugden took out a crumpled packet of Camel Plain, lit one and coughed.

“Terrible habit, I know,” he said, “but after forty years, it’s a bit late to stop now.”

“Can you tell us about when you spoke to Milly Lancaster?” Killian said.

“It was Friday evening.” Sugden inhaled deeply and blew out a cloud of smoke. “Around eight, I think. I always go to the Boar around that time. Four pints and I’m home by nine thirty. Milly was about to get into her car. She parks it by the pub — there’s no space to park it by her house.”

“What did you talk about?” Taylor asked.

“Nothing. I barely know Milly. Just enough to say hello, if you know what I mean.”

“So you didn’t speak to Mrs Lancaster?” Killian said.

“I just said hello, I made some comment about the weather and went inside the pub.”

“How did Milly seem to you?” Taylor asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Did she appear anxious at all? Did she look like something was bothering her?”

“No, but then again, I’m not the most observant bloke in the world. My late wife, God rest her soul, used to moan like hell about it. Said I never noticed a thing. Milly seemed fine to me.”

“So she got in her car,” Killian said. “Did you see which direction she went in?”

“Up towards Bodgarth. It’s on the way to Merryhead.”

“I know where it is,” Killian said.

“Did you see anybody else hanging around?” Taylor asked. “Did anybody follow Mrs Lancaster?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but, like I said, I don’t notice much. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

The room was now so full of smoke that Taylor’s eyes were stinging.

“Thank you for your time, Mr Sugden,” Killian said. “If you think of anything else, please phone me on my mobile.” He handed Sugden one of his cards. “We’ll see ourselves out,” he added.

“Any use, do you think?” Taylor asked as they walked back to Killian’s car.

“Might be, if something else turns up. Sugden might have given us something that just makes everything fall into place.”

Taylor had worked with Killian for six months now and his optimism still amazed her. She had never come across somebody so positive about everything. She was about to get into the car when she spotted the curtains in Alice Green’s house moving. “Sir, there’s something I need to talk to Alice Green about. She’s Milly’s best friend.” She pointed to Alice’s house.