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Julia always spent a few minutes on a Monday morning planning her week. While feeding the cat, the dog and the chickens, she ran through her social plans and other commitments in her head. Over her second cup of tea, she listed, on a piece of paper this time, the errands she had to run, the admin tasks requiring attention, and the chores in the house and garden that she would complete.

She paused and looked at the list. She was aware that her schedule was only lightly sprinkled with activities, and that most of these were very minor. Still, they somehow filled her days and kept her surprisingly busy and fulfilled. She wondered if A Night to Remember would lurch back into production, and require her presence this week, or whether Roger would finally admit defeat. From the silence from most people on the WhatsApp group, it seemed that enthusiasm for the idea of the am-dram festival might be diminishing – other than with Hector, of course. He seemed undeterred, as far as the production was concerned, and had been sending messages on the WhatsApp group since Friday, asking when the next rehearsal would be.

Julia grabbed her keys and decided to get a start on the list .

‘All right then, you can come for the ride,’ she told Jake, who was pacing about eagerly in the hope of an outing. He didn’t have to be asked twice. She opened the front door and he shot out like a bullet from a gun, to sit expectantly next to the car. She opened the car’s back door and he was inside in an instant, sitting solemnly upright as he always did, like an important fellow being ferried around town by his chauffeur.

The two books Julia needed to deliver to Hayley were on the passenger seat next to her. She would drop them off first, she decided. One easy tick for the to-do list! There was a parking space right outside the police station. She opened Jake’s window and instructed, ‘Be good. I won’t be a minute.’ He assured her, mutely, that he would indeed be good.

A tall, besuited man came down the pavement and walked into the station just ahead of Julia. His grey hair looked as if it had been cut that very morning, or perhaps every morning. Every hair was in place. He approached Cherise, at the front desk, with an officious air. Julia hung back a few paces, so as not to intrude.

‘Garfield Lineker. Solicitor,’ he said. ‘I need to see Detective Inspector’ – he consulted a piece of paper, which he’d taken from his pocket – ‘Gibson. Hayley Gibson. It’s in connection with Graham Powell.’

Julia inched forward, very smoothly, so as not to draw attention to herself.

‘I’m afraid the detective is in a meeting,’ said Cherise. ‘Can I give her a message for you?’

‘I need to see her in person.’

‘Ah, well, you can wait, or I can ask her to phone you?’

‘It’s important. Please let her know I’m here.’

Julia watched Cherise’s eyes narrow slightly. She was not a woman to be trifled with, Cherise. She’d been at Berrywick police station for ten years and she’d seen more than her fair share of entitled lawyers, not to mention singing drunks, combative neighbours, fighting spouses and worried parents.

‘I’ll let her know once her meeting is over. You are welcome to wait. It might be a while, though.’ Cherise seemed rather pleased to be able to impart this last piece of information.

Mr Lineker leaned in. ‘I am Graham Powell’s lawyer. I have information that I believe may be pertinent to his death.’

‘What is the nature of the information?’ Cherise asked.

Julia wanted to know, too. She turned her head, so her good ear was pointed in their direction, and gazed at the noticeboard on the far wall, as if engrossed in a poster encouraging the villagers of Berrywick to Make that call! if they saw anything suspicious. In Julia’s experience, the villagers of Berrywick didn’t need a lot of encouragement.

The lawyer spoke quietly, but Julia managed to hear every word. ‘I was acting for him in a particular matter, a personal matter. A legal letter was delivered to a certain person that very morning, the morning of his demise, and I believe this information should form part of the investigation into Mr Powell’s death.’

Cherise picked up the phone and said, ‘Could you come to the front desk, please?’

Mr Lineker looked very pleased with himself, having strong-armed the desk sergeant, triumphed over the system, and rustled up DI Hayley Gibson. Except that it was DC Walter Farmer who appeared, looking rather harassed.

‘Oh, hello, Julia,’ he said. ‘What can I help you with?’

‘Not Mrs Bird,’ said Cherise, tossing her head in the direction of the lawyer. ‘Mr…Errr?’

‘Lineker.’

‘Ah. Hello, I’m DC Farmer.’ Walter gestured to the lawyer to follow him.

‘Is DI Gibson available?’

‘Come with me, sir, I’ll take your statement. ’

‘It’s very important that I see the DI. My client…’

The man’s voice continued, muffled, as he followed Walter through the door, and then was heard no more. The door opened, and one of the young constables came through, along with Mr Lineker’s insistent voice: ‘…he served her notice of intent to divorce on Saturday morning…’ The door closed behind them, leaving Julia wondering.

‘Mrs Bird?’ The way Cherise said her name made Julia think she must have said it at least once before catching her attention.

‘Sorry, Cherise. My mind wandered. I have a little something for Hayley Gibson. Some books I thought she might like. I imagine she’s very busy with everything that’s going on, so I don’t want to bother her. But would you mind giving them to her when you see her?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Cherise reached over and took the books, turning them over to read the blurbs. ‘Oooh, these do look nice. I think I’ve read one of hers. American police detectives are so much hunkier, aren’t they?’

Julia did not feel it her place to comment on the relative hunkiness of American versus British police detectives, especially given the proximity of the latter. Instead, she said, ‘It’s an author Hayley likes. Someone brought a few newish ones into Second Chances, and I nabbed them.’

‘Ah.’

‘Paid for them, of course,’ Julia clarified. ‘I wouldn’t just take them.’ There was something about being in a police station, even one that Julia had come to know so well, that made Julia feel as if she might be accused of a crime at any moment.

Cherise smiled. ‘Oh, of course not. I’m sure DI Gibson will be very pleased. She needs something to take her mind off things, that’s for sure, other than the chocolates and flowers she keeps getting. She’s been working like a madwoman, as usual. Loads of paperwork with poor Graham’s death, of course. And now this.’ She gestured with her head towards the door, behind which the pushy lawyer was no doubt badgering Walter Farmer for access to the senior officer. Cherise gave an almost imperceptible roll of her eyes.

‘Give Hayley my best,’ said Julia. ‘I hope she enjoys the books.’

Julia went home via the post office – a second item ticked off the list – her head full of what she’d heard: He served her notice of intent to divorce… And before that, he’d said something about a personal matter, a legal letter delivered on the morning of his death. Try as she might, Julia couldn’t find any interpretation of these snippets of conversation other than that Graham was planning to divorce Jane. And he’d told her on the day of his death. But what did that have to do with…

The furious blare of a car’s hooter dragged Julia out of her musing. She slammed her foot on the brake, sending Jake into the back of her seat. She was shocked to find the car’s nose halfway into a junction, having stopped too late.

The dog was fine, if somewhat put out. But not nearly as put out as the man shaking his fist at her. From the angle of his car, he’d skidded to a halt when she’d come through the give way sign in front of him.

‘Look where you’re going, you idiot!’ he shouted through his rolled-down window. ‘You could have killed someone.’

And the truth of it was, she could have.

Just as surely as someone had killed Graham Powell with that bullet in the prop gun and with Oscar’s finger on the trigger.