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this type of murder was the husband. They wanted to look at the vehicles. They asked Seth to go with them to the police station, just to help with their inquiries.
    “How long do you think my wife was out there?”
    “A week or two.”
    “I was away just now,” he said without rancor. “My sister-in-law can verify my absence.” He glanced at her as if anticipating her refusal. “But I was here when Miss Lord arrived; she’s been here about two weeks…”
    “Well yes…you know Mr. Sanderson only came back the day you arrived to tell me…tell us…about my sister...” A swelling welled up in her throat.
    But it was Seth who spoke. “Poppy, there’s time later for that. You’re not ready…please.” He came beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. She knew he was right. To the policemen he said, “And I have alibis aplenty. I’m going to write them down for you…what I am not doing is going to the station. You can have someone come here and take my DNA, you can do what the hell you like, but I am not sitting in a stinking room being interrogated for no good reason other than you’re taking the easy route. If I was you I’d be out there looking for whoever did this.” This last was spoken with something akin to pure rage. Even Poppy blanched at the venom in the words.
    The detectives exchanged glances and then the older indicated with his hand that Seth should give them a list. He sat at his desk, drew out a piece of white typing paper and, picking up a ballpoint pen, commenced to write.
    Finished, he gave the paper to the inspector who looked at it right away.
    “You can see, I was in London. I had appointments all day and every day. When I travelled back I did so with Adam Naismith. He happened to be on the same train. You do know him, don’t you? He used to be a policeman too—in fact wasn’t he your chief?”
    Clatter!
    Poppy heard the penny drop into the slot loud and clear. She felt a little sorry for the policemen, and she wandered towards them.
    Seth continued. “Other than that, my staff can verify my movements, as well as Miss Lord.”
    “I do thank you for all your efforts,” she said quietly. “I really, really do.”
    They nodded at her, gave Seth a rather conciliatory look and made to leave without saying anything else.
    It was Seth who forestalled them. “However, I have no objection to your going over my vehicles. I took the Range Rover to the station and left it there while I was away. As far as I know the other car hasn’t been used… Poppy, did you use a car?”
    “No…I don’t know about Mrs. C…”
    “She sometimes uses the little green car but more often than not she takes her own. However, do feel free to ask her. I want this bastard caught as much as you.”

Chapter 9
    Poppy leapt awake. The movement was so violent she almost bounced off the bed. Her heart was thudding away. Reaching for the lamp, she closed her eyes against the flooding light.
    What had happened? Had she been dreaming, was it a nightmare? No, it was something that haunted her mind. The realization that her sister was dead burst into her consciousness, and she sank back against the pillow. Her hand soothed her throbbing heart. “It’s all right,” she counseled herself but it was no use. It wasn’t all right. It was worse than a nightmare. The reality of Jasmine’s death was heartbreaking.
    Yet it was not only that. There was something else. Something disturbing, it nagged at the back of her mind. What was it?
    She turned over onto her side, then after a moment or two spun back again. Parched, she staggered from the bed. Once in the bathroom she took up a glass, filled it with water and drank greedily. Her reflection showed a woman with plump dark purple bags beneath her eyes. Those eyes looked smaller, as if shrunk by the tears she’d shed. Her sister was dead. The thought that she’d moaned about her to anyone who’d listen, that she’d fretted about the life that Jasmine lived and