He took her arm and shepherded her outside. All the way, he could feel her resisting, ready to throw off his guiding hand at any moment. But when he’d first joined the police Joe had been taught how to deal with unwilling suspects so he succeeded in tightening his grip and marching her to the door.

They were outside now amongst the empty chairs and tables set out overlooking the river. The chairs were damp and the tables were covered with little pools of water but Joe pulled out a chair and sat down – a wet backside seemed the least of his problems at that moment. Kirsten looked at the neighbouring chair with distaste before pulling a tissue from her handbag and wiping it carefully.

‘To what do I owe the honour of this visit,’ Joe began, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice. Kirsten was Kaitlin’s younger sister, spoiled and indulged. She had gone travelling in Europe shortly after the wedding and hadn’t even bothered turning up for her sister’s funeral. Kaitlin had heard rumours that she’d become involved with some Italian aristocrat but Kirsten had never bothered to keep her sister up to date with her movements. At the time of Kaitlin’s death she hadn’t heard from Kirsten for over six months, not since she’d made it so obvious that she regarded her wedding to Joe as tawdry, suburban and a big mistake. A former trainee priest from a large Liverpool family with an Irish mother and a down-to-earth Yorkshire father was far beneath her. And the fact that Joe had joined the police made it even worse.

The sisters’ parents had died when they were in their teens so Kaitlin and Kirsten were alone in the world. Alone and fairly wealthy. At the wedding Kirsten had accused Joe of being after Kaitlin’s money. It wasn’t true, of course, and when he had inherited her money on her death he’d been too grief-stricken to touch it so he’d given most of it away to charity. There were times he thought he should have kept hold of it in case times became hard, that his first impulse not to benefit from Kaitlin’s death had been a little hasty. But he supposed it had done some good to someone.

‘I’ve been finding out about my sister’s death. I know what was said at the inquest.’

‘You’ve taken your bloody time. You ignored Kaitlin after we got married and you didn’t even bother coming to her funeral. What is it you want?’

‘Justice.’ She almost spat the word.

‘I tried to contact you when she died but nobody knew where to find you.’

‘I was travelling. Then I settled in the States for a while.’

‘I take it you’ve only just found out that Kaitlin’s dead?’

‘I found out three months ago actually. It’s taken me all this time to find out exactly what happened and get my head round it. Then I had to find you.’

‘How did you do that?’

‘Through my cousin Jenny.’

Joe nodded. He and Jenny exchanged cards and a letter at Christmas. Jenny was a nice woman, unlike the Kirsten he remembered.

‘I told her not to tell you I was here. I said I wanted to surprise you.’

‘You’ve certainly done that. How did you know about the King’s Head?’

‘I came to a party in Eborby once – a friend of a friend from the university who had a flat overlooking the river. We came for a drink here the day after. I remembered it.’

‘And you never thought to try to contact your sister before that?’

‘I’ve been abroad leading a busy life. I thought I had a lifetime to get in touch with Kaitlin again. How was I to know she’d been murdered?’

Joe looked round. A group of students were passing their table, making for the pub. One of them looked at Joe curiously. ‘Keep your voice down,’ he hissed.

‘You admitted at the inquest that you’d had a row. You said you’d argued and she stormed off. And the hotel receptionist saw you going after her.’

‘Of course I went after her. I was worried.’

‘He said you’d had a lot to drink.’

‘I challenged that at the inquest. We’d had some wine with a meal but . . .’

‘You were drunk. You went after her. You met her on the cliff path then you pushed her. And I’m going to prove it.’

Joe heart sank as he looked into his sister-in-law’s eyes, cold and determined. Kaitlin had always said that Kirsten was used to getting whatever she wanted. The spoiled little sister.

‘You can’t prove it, Kirsten, because it didn’t happen like that.’

‘What were you arguing about?’

Joe hesitated. Why should he tell her? He owed her nothing. On the other hand, why not? It would show he had nothing to hide. ‘We were arguing about you, if you must know. She’d not heard from you since you stormed out of the wedding and she was worried. She wanted to go and look for you. She was the elder sister and she had this misguided idea that she was somehow responsible for you but I told her she had to let go . . . that you hurt people and let them down. She was tearing herself apart with worry. I couldn’t let her carry on like that. That’s all I’ve got to say.’ He stood up. ‘Goodbye, Kirsten.’

He began to walk away. Kirsten’s arrival had shocked him and he knew she could make trouble for him. And he didn’t have time for trouble right now.

He half walked, half ran back to his flat, past the bright shop windows and the busy eating places.

Things were quiet at Bearsley Leisure Centre after the early morning rush of swimming enthusiasts trying to get a few lengths in before they set off for work. And Den Harvey took advantage of the lull to sneak out for a quiet cigarette. He knew that smoking was bad for his health but he was sick and tired of everyone he worked with at the leisure centre going on at him about it. He was sick of all those No Smoking signs and sick of feeling persecuted. And now his doctor was having a go at him about his diet and his weight as well.

But when he got home that evening Den would sneak up to his room and take his revenge on all of them, slaughtering them on his computer screen, seeing them disintegrate at the touch of a button. They might try and control his working life and his body but they couldn’t control his mind.

Den stood amongst the bins at the back of the leisure centre, breathing in the aroma of rotting rubbish blended with the beloved scent of a newly lit cigarette. He tugged his tracksuit bottoms up and looked around. The back of the centre was the place other people avoided; the neglected backside of the ugly building. But it was Den’s domain. His territory. He felt safe here.

When he heard his name being called, he froze, the hand holding the cigarette half way up to his lips. He took a step back into the shelter of the tall industrial bins and stood there perfectly still, hoping the boss wouldn’t find him.

But today his luck was out. The boss had spotted him and he was walking over, clipboard in hand. And he didn’t look pleased.

‘A bulb’s gone in the men’s changing room. See to it, will you,’ the boss said. He was a little man who reminded Den of a terrier he’d had as a child.

Den let the cigarette drop and stamped on it viciously, imagining it was the man’s skull, and watched as the boss walked over to the bushes which fringed the concrete car park, thick gorse with scraps of litter hanging from its dusty foliage like votive offerings. Den saw him raise a tentative hand to push the branches aside and stare down at something on the ground.

The boss swore and staggered back a little, his hand clamped across his mouth, and Den shambled over to his side to see what the fuss was about.

On the ground, half hidden by the bushes, was a young woman, lying on her back as if asleep. Her fair hair was spread out around her head like a halo and her arms were neatly folded across her chest. She was beautiful, or rather she had been because now there was something wrong with her mouth. Her discoloured lips were parted to reveal a red mess of drying blood where her tongue should have been. She stared upwards with horrified eyes as though she was looking into the depths of hell.

‘Call the police,’ the boss said quietly.

Den hesitated for a few moments before rushing off to reception.