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bring Sharon’s killer to justice. And whoever it was must have her phone, otherwise where was it? It was the least Kate felt she could do and nobody – not Woody or this wretched man or anyone else – was going to stand in her way.

Violet Potter touched her arm lightly. ‘Come into the lounge, dear. There’s a kettle and some mugs in there and there should be some teabags.’

Kate hesitated. She saw Stan, almost in a state of collapse, being shepherded into the residents’ lounge along with everyone else. Feeling desperately sorry for him, Kate entered, crossed the room and sat down next to him.

‘I can’t believe this,’ he moaned. ‘I can’t believe it. My Sharon!’

‘I’m so sorry, Stan, but we’ll find out who did this.’ Kate squeezed his arm and hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

‘Who would do this?’ Stan wiped his eyes. ‘And they won’t let me go with her.’

‘You’ll be able to see her later,’ Kate consoled, ‘but they’ll first need to establish exactly how she died.’

‘She died cos she fell down the bloody stairs!’ Stan’s voice rose to a crescendo. ‘And what I want to know is, who bloody well pushed her?’

‘Oh, apparently she tripped over the cord of the vacuum cleaner,’ said Violet Potter, who had positioned herself on Stan’s other side.

‘My arse!’ shouted Stan. Violet flinched. ‘As if Sharon would leave the cord stretched across the bloody staircase just so she could trip over it! For God’s sake!’ He turned to Kate. ‘We’ve been married more than thirty years.’ Stan put his head in his hands. ‘How am I going to live without her?’

Afternoon became evening and Bill Robson was still taking statements from every single resident. Kate glanced across at David Courtney, seated beside a uniformed policeman, and still waiting to be questioned. If there was ever any doubt that this man was a suspect, there surely couldn’t be now.

It was half past seven before Bill Robson got all the statements he wanted. He wound up the session by saying that he would be producing warrants to search all the flats. This resulted in a chorus of outrage. He also wanted to know how to contact the grange’s management team, and the details of everyone there. Ollie Pratt was happy to oblige, dashing in and out of his flat with folders and sheaves of paper.

‘Absolutely ridiculous!’ Cornelius Crow was sitting immediately behind Kate. ‘That David Courtney’s been in and out of Edina’s flat ever since she died so they’re not going to find any incriminating evidence now, are they?’

David Courtney must have overheard, but he remained impassive. Kate was inclined to agree with Cornelius but, right now, she just wanted to go home, have a good cry and be comforted by Woody.

Twenty-Three

‘I need to get out of here,’ Kate told Woody later, ‘after the day I’ve had.’

‘Come right on over,’ Woody said. ‘Tonight’s the night the fish-and-chip van comes down to the village, so why don’t I get us some dinner?’

‘Can I bring Barney with me?’

‘Of course you can.’

‘You and I are going visiting,’ Kate informed Barney as she attached the lead to his collar.

‘I’ve already heard,’ Woody said thirty minutes later, hugging Kate. ‘Bill Robson’s been on the phone. It must have been awful for you.’

‘Not as awful as it was for poor Stan Starkey,’ Kate said. ‘They’d been married thirty years, he told me.’

‘First thing – you need to eat.’ He passed her a package of fish and chips and sat down at the kitchen table.

Kate realised she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast-time and was extremely hungry. ‘Can we eat out of the paper?’ she asked.

‘Is there any other way?’ He grinned at her. ‘We don’t want to wash plates, do we?’ He handed Barney a couple of chips.

‘I don’t want to do anything,’ Kate admitted. ‘I’m feeling absolutely shattered.’

Woody sighed. ‘Well, I had Bill on the phone for the best part of half an hour, so think I’ve got the gist of what’s happened. We can talk about it, if you want, apres fish and chips. I’ve put salt and vinegar on them, by the way.’

‘Thanks,’ Kate said. She took a mouthful of the flakes of white haddock encased in a crisp batter, which she knew were delicious, but she could hardly taste it.

After three mouthfuls she put down her fork, picked up her wine, and emptied the glass.

‘What’s wrong?’ Woody asked. ‘Is your fish no good? Mine’s delicious.’

‘No, I’m sure it’s lovely but I’m just finding it difficult to swallow.’

‘Well, you’re drinking that wine fast enough! You’re drinking like your sister!’

‘I feel so responsible for Sharon’s death. I was the one who asked her to snoop around in all the flats to see if she could find evidence of some kind.’

‘She didn’t have to do it,’ Woody said gently.

‘She did it because I asked her,’ Kate said.

Woody shook his head. ‘I can’t work out why on earth she would stand at the top of the stairs and make that phone call, so that everyone could hear. Why didn’t she wait until she got home or text at the very least?’

‘She was speaking very quietly,’ Kate said. ‘She must have thought she was safe.’

‘Remind me, who lives upstairs?’

‘Well, there’s Cornelius Crow with his crime books and his obsession with murder. There’s Edgar Ellis, the retired vicar, who was supposedly in love with Edina, whose wife died of food poisoning and who recently tried to commit suicide. And there’s David Courtney, Edina’s stepson, who just happened to be “sorting out Edina’s stuff”, as he put it. Quite a coincidence that he should be there, don’t you think?’

‘Hmm, maybe,’ said Woody. ‘And was everyone else where they should have been, in their own flats?’

‘Apparently. Therefore, it stands to reason that one of the three upstairs must have pushed her down. Because I do believe Sharon was hit on the head or stunned and then she was pushed because, one way or the other, she didn’t shout or scream

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