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War.” He chuckled as though he had seen it himself. “Didn’t make him very popular, I can tell you.”
    That’s better, Woodend thought, he’s gettin’ into the swing, buildin’ up his self-confidence.
    â€œAnyway,” Black continued, “I am a policeman – well, nearly – an’ I thought I’d better find out about it from somebody more sensible. I mean, old Mrs Hawkins is so daft that she once . . .” His mouth froze, his eyes widened, his face flushed red. It look him fully twenty seconds to recover. “I’m sorry sir,” he said. “I know you don’t want to listen to village goss––”
    â€œIt’s exactly what I want to hear,” Woodend said.
    He had heard enough to be sure that Black was the man he wanted. He glanced across at Davenport and saw that the constable was far from convinced.
    â€œForget the murder for a minute,” he told Black. “What do you know about the Wilsons?”
    â€œI have personally known Mr and Mrs Wilson since I was a child,” Black began, attempting to compensate for his earlier lapse. “Mr Wilson made a considerable sum of money, I believe in the chemical indust––”
    â€œNo, no, no!” Woodend said in exasperation. “Talk to us like you were talkin’ just now. Give us the dirt. Pretend you’re gossipin’ with your mates in the pub.”
    â€œI don’t drink, sir.”
    â€œAll right, then, chattin’ to your mum. Can you do that?”
    Black gulped.
    â€œI’ll try, sir. Well, Mr Wilson ran away from home when he was not much more than a kid an’––”
    â€œWhy did he do that?” Woodend asked.
    â€œOh, his dad was a real bad bugger – sorry, sir. Not at first, not when this Mr Wilson was a little lad, but later on, when he got taken by the drink. His wife and children lived in terror of him. He was forever givin’ them hidin’s. He stopped goin’ to church an’ all, except once he went when he was drunk an’ tried to piss in the font – sorry, sir.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter,” Woodend said impatiently. “Go on with your story.”
    â€œAnyway, nobody heard of Mr Wilson – Paul – the present Mr Wilson, for thirty years. When he came back, his mum and dad were dead. He bought their old house and the four next to it.”
    â€œWere they all up for sale at the same time?” Woodend asked, surprised.
    â€œNo, sir, but Mr Wilson was offerin’ good money. He paid four or five times what they were worth. He had his own house – the one he used to live in – knocked down first, an he had all the rubble collected in wagons. Then he got them to dig a big hole over by the railway track and had it buried.”
    â€œBuried?”
    â€œYes, sir. When that was done, he had the rest of the houses demolished and used the rubble as hard core for his new house. He’s dead strict now, doesn’t believe in dressin’ up or holidays or owt like that, but they say he wasn’t like that as a kid. They say it was what his dad did that turned him.”
    Woodend looked across at Davenport again. The constable was frowning, then he smiled and nodded his head.
    â€œMrs Wilson was a different kettle of fish,” Black continued. “When she first came here, she was really lively – wearin’ bright dresses, holdin’ ladies’ tea parties. Mr Wilson didn’t like it much, but his wife was a very determined woman. She’s nothin’ but a shadow of her former self now, seemed to lose all her energy after her daughter was killed.”
    â€œKilled?” Woodend demanded. “Not died? Killed? Was it an accident?”
    â€œOh no, sir.” Black sounded surprised that Woodend didn’t already know. “She was murdered.”

Chapter Five
    It must have been just like this after Mount Etna erupted,