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knowledge of the inhabitants’ affairs.
    â€˜Oh, you’re safe with me, Detective Sergeant Hook. You can say whatever you want in here and know that it will go no further.’ Debbie Keane looked round at the walls and the windows of her unit and nodded sagely. Probably at that moment she actually believed what she was saying. Busybodies had an enormous capacity for self-deception.
    Bert knew what would happen, but he could see no alternative. The woman was a source of information and he needed to use her. And if news of the threatening notes the Ramsbottoms had received trickled round the site, that might be the best method of suppressing them. Nutters who wrote notes did not usually welcome publicity, and the news of police investigation might well frighten them off. Suppression wasn’t as good as exposure and punishment, but it was a good second best.
    â€˜Lisa Ramsbottom contacted me because she had received unpleasant notes, Mrs Keane. This is the first of them.’ He produced the polythene envelope in which he had placed the card. Debbie stared with widening eyes at the words in capitals: YOU ARE LINING YOURSELF UP FOR DEATH.
    There was an extended dramatic pause before she said tremulously, ‘Goodness me! Someone is threatening them. Who could have done this?’
    â€˜I’m hoping that is where you might be able to help, Debbie.’ He used her first name now, partly to alleviate what seemed her genuine fear, partly to emphasize how much he was taking her into his confidence. ‘Can you think of anyone on the site who might have done this?’
    She shook her head slowly, as if she did not trust herself with words.
    â€˜Someone with a grievance against Lisa and Jason, perhaps. You chat to a lot of people, I know. Has anyone told you that they dislike the Ramsbottoms?’
    â€˜No. We’re a friendly lot here. We get on well with each other. We don’t come here to do things like that.’ She dipped her head towards the note, as if she feared to use her hand to point at it.
    â€˜It’s not just an isolated incident, you see. There have been other notes.’ He produced his second polythene cover and his second message: HEED YOUR WARNINGS. THE TIME IS NEAR.
    Debbie Keane stared at the words in horror for a moment, then turned her white, round face back to Hook. ‘Someone is threatening them. Do you think he’s really going to attack them?’
    â€˜No, I don’t, Debbie. It might not be a he, of course. But these things are false alarms, in nineteen cases out of twenty. They are sent by silly or disturbed people who want to frighten their targets. But they have to be investigated.’ It flashed across his mind that it might just be this appalled-looking grey-haired woman who had slipped these messages into the Ramsbottoms’ unit. And if into theirs, perhaps into others which had yet to come to light. Everyone seemed to think that she was the person who knew most about the business of others in this constantly changing village. That would make her best placed to have the material which would embolden her to issue threats like this. He said, ‘You used to have a dog, didn’t you, Debbie?’
    She nodded, seeming to find nothing to alarm her in this odd switch of subject. ‘Fox terrier, she was. Bessie. She died not long ago.’
    â€˜You must miss her.’ He was studying her closely; he had known at least two elderly ladies who had become unbalanced after the loss of a pet, though they had each been at least ten years older than Debbie Keane.
    â€˜You get over it. It’s a blow when they go, but you always knew they would, eventually. I still enjoy walking in the woods – still enjoy meeting other people’s dogs. There are quite a few of them come here.’
    No sign of any mental disorder there; Bert felt rather ashamed of himself for even considering the possibility. ‘Well, as I say, it’s almost