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Hayley Gibson listened to Julia’s story with a look of brooding irritation, her arms crossed over her chest, and an eyebrow raising occasionally in what Julia took to be disbelief. But once she’d talked her way into the DI’s office, and got her attention, Julia was determined to tell her everything, succinctly, but in full.

When Julia mentioned Bethany’s affair with Graham, Hayley looked as if she might explode. ‘Damn it! I knew Jane was holding something back. When she finally admitted that they were headed towards divorce, she didn’t mention the affair. When I asked her about the reasons, she just said, “Oh, you know…we drifted apart.” I think she even used the word “amicable”.’

‘According to Hannah, once Graham was dead, Jane decided to just pretend the separation never happened to protect his reputation – and hers, I suppose,’ Julia said. ‘How she thought she’d make that work I don’t know. It was bound to come up somehow. You can’t keep a secret like that forever, not with an investigation into an unnatural death. ’

‘Well, you dug it up.’ Hayley spoke with grudging admiration.

‘And there’s more,’ said Julia.

When she got to the revelation about Roger Grave being Bethany’s father, Hayley reacted: ‘Her father ? Are you kidding me? How did I not know that ?’

‘Well, you weren’t even talking to Bethany. She wasn’t involved in the play. And Roger wasn’t a suspect, so it’s not as if you were looking at his personal life.’ Julia ended with a disclaimer: ‘I am not trying to interfere, Hayley. I’m just telling you what I’ve discovered. Roger Grave did have a motive – Graham Powell was having an affair with his daughter – and he had opportunity, given where the murder took place. I could be adding one and one and making three – that’s for you to decide – but either way, this situation between Graham, Roger and Bethany is complicated and fraught, and probably worth investigating.’

‘Okay.’

‘What?’

‘Okay, I hear you.’ Hayley was reaching for her phone. ‘I find it very hard to imagine Grave had anything to do with Graham’s death, but there does seem to be something off in this connection. Something between the three of them. I’m phoning him now.’

Julia waited, hearing the faint tinny ringing tone coming from Hayley’s phone. There was a knock on the door. It opened a crack and a head appeared. A familiar head – male, youngish, straggly dark hair and rather a pleasant face wearing a tentative expression – but Julia couldn’t quite place it.

‘Another delivery for DI Gibson. The reception lady said I could bring this through,’ he said.

Hayley, phone still to her ear, nodded, and he stepped into her office.

‘Brian?’ Julia’s voice was pure astonishment .

It was the same young man who had delivered Oscar’s flowers to Julia the previous week, the one who Julia had embarrassingly mistaken for Hayley’s date. Blushing at the memory of her crazy assumption, Julia noticed that Hayley was a similar shade of pink, presumably on account of the admirer who was sending what appeared to be a very nice basket of fruit, chocolates and other treats.

Brian, wearing the same black jeans and black leather jacket as last time, was the only one not flushed with embarrassment. He gazed around, looking for a place to set the basket down. It was a hopeless search.

‘I’ll take it,’ said Julia, reaching for it. ‘Thank you.’

Brian handed it over with relief and beat a hasty retreat.

Now, Julia was left with the problem of finding a clear space amongst the drifts and slopes of Hayley’s paperwork. There was no such thing, so she put it on the floor in the corner, noting the lovely selection – a slab of macadamia nut brittle looked particularly tempting. There was a note card attached, which, sadly, Julia was not able to read at this distance. Who, she wondered, was the generous soul behind the gift? And why had they sent it? Was it Hayley’s birthday? No, that was definitely early in the year. She noticed the brilliant white orchid that she’d seen on her last visit to Hayley. That had been a gift, too, that Cherise had mentioned. Was it from the same person? Did Hayley Gibson have an admirer?

Hayley, meanwhile, had made another call and was speaking: ‘What time was the meeting? Right. Yes, I know, he’s very punctual…Yes, I tried his mobile too…Well, when he comes in, will you ask him to phone me? Thank you.’

Hayley ended the call and squinted into the middle distance, as she tended to do when deeply considering a problem.

‘Well, I suppose I should be on my way,’ Julia said. ‘Enjoy your goody basket, Hayley. ’

Julia had hoped to perhaps prompt some explanation as to the basket’s provenance, but Hayley looked at it as if she’d forgotten it was there, and said, ‘Thanks.’

‘It looks delicious.’

‘It does.’

Julia could contain herself no longer: ‘Hayley, do you have an admirer? A beau?’

Hayley wore the funny, squiffy expression of someone trying to suppress a smile. ‘Yes, Julia, I do indeed.’

Julia waited expectantly, an encouraging smile on her own face, but no further information was forthcoming. In fact, a frown appeared on Hayley’s forehead. ‘I need to speak to Roger Grave urgently.’

Julia hoped she wasn’t sending the detective on a wild goose chase.

‘Jane Powell – the victim’s widow – is being detained for questioning, on my orders. If there’s another narrative, another theory, I need to hear it. If there’s another suspect, I need to get that poor woman out of there. And for that, I need to see Roger Grave. His input could be key to solving this case. And he’s chosen this very day to disappear. He didn’t go to work. He missed a meeting. And he’s not answering his phone. Very unusual behaviour.’

‘That is odd, isn’t it?’ said Julia. ‘From my experience of him at the theatre, he’s utterly punctual and reliable.’

‘Likewise, at work. I’m concerned,’ said Hayley. ‘I’m going to swing by his house and see if he’s there.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’ Hayley was on her feet now, shoving first one arm and then the other into her coat. She took a step towards the door, grabbing her handbag as she went. ‘Damn.’ She stopped short.

‘What is it?’

‘My car is in the garage. They’re fixing the brakes. Again. I’ll have to phone Walter Farmer, see if there’s a car available. ’

‘I can give you a lift. My car’s right outside. It’s no trouble, the drive is only ten minutes or so. I’ll tell Wilma I will be at the shop a bit later than I thought. They’ll manage fine without me.’

Hayley appeared to be weighing up her options. Her conundrum was clear – she didn’t want Julia tagging along on police business, but getting a lift from her would be the simplest and quickest solution to her transport problem.

‘Okay, thanks,’ she said, quite ungraciously. ‘I want to see if Roger’s home, and if he’s okay, and then question him.’

Julia hadn’t thought, when she had initiated this whole situation, that she would be present when it played out. Now she felt rather nervous. Grave, in his Regional Superintendent persona, was quite scary – and here she was, implying he might be involved in a murder. ‘Well, they’re not really theories, more like…I suppose, observations…’

‘Let’s go.’

Hayley was a brisk walker, and Julia had to trot to catch her up.

‘Going out,’ Hayley barked at Cherise. ‘An hour or so, I expect.’

Cherise appeared not to notice Hayley’s brusque manner and purposeful stride. She started gushing delightedly, ‘Gosh, another delivery for you, boss! And wasn’t it lovely? Goodness, whoever is sending these lovely gifts deserves a chance, I’d say. If you’re not interested, you can send him my way. A fellow like that would be…’

Hayley made as if she didn’t hear a word emanating from the front desk, and strode through the door, Julia scurrying after her.

Roger Grave’s house was on the outskirts of the neighbouring village of Edgeley. Hayley had been there for a drinks party the previous Christmas, not long after Roger Grave had moved there, and knew where to go. Julia followed her directions as obediently and confidently as she would the Google Maps lady whose plummy tones instructed her on her way around the Cotswolds.

‘Left here…Straight over at the roundabout…Turn right by the school…’

In between directions, there was mostly silence, both women mulling over things in their heads.

‘Here we are. You can pull over here.’ Hayley gestured to a small stone house set just back from the road, with a neat, if not treasured, garden along the front side.

Hayley’s hand was on the door handle before Julia’s little red Fiat had come to a complete stop.

‘Come on then, let’s see what’s up with Roger.’

Julia got out and locked the car. This was a London habit that she’d never managed to shake, despite the continued ribbing of her fellow villagers – ‘What do you think, it’s going to be stolen ?’ followed by guffaws of laughter. She followed Hayley to the front door with a prickly sense of foreboding. She wondered about Roger’s personal life. He had never mentioned a wife, and she’d assumed him to be single. Clearly, given the Bethany discovery, any assumptions she might have about his life meant nothing, but in this case she had been correct.

‘He lives alone,’ said Hayley, ‘so if he’s not here, we’re on a wasted mission.’

She knocked on the green-painted front door.

No answer.

She knocked again, wearily this time, as if she knew it would be in vain.

This time, her knock got a response. A high-pitched yapping bark from inside the house. The barks got louder, closer, until the dog was on the other side of the front door. It jumped at the door – Julia worried for the woodwork on the other side, as she heard the little thing hurl itself halfway up the door and then scrape its nails on the way down. On the fourth jump, the dog’s foot must have snagged the door handle and its weight pulled it down. The door cracked open to reveal a bouncy golden spaniel, going berserk.

‘It’s okay, boy, we’re just visiting your dad, Roger,’ Julia said, bending down to calm him. ‘Everything’s all right.’

Except it wasn’t. Everything wasn’t all right at all.

The door creaked open wider to reveal – there on the floor by the front door, beside the neat row of wellies and running shoes – the splayed, lifeless body of Superintendent Roger Grave.