If Peter Sugden was responsible he would have had to drive with Milly up to Merryhead. How had he got back? It was a five-mile trip and Sugden didn’t have a car. There was no way he could have made it back to Polgarrow unless he had help and that seemed unlikely.

Taylor read the report again. All four locks on the car had been tampered with. Even a little old lady like Milly Lancaster would have put up a fight once she realised what was happening. It would take time to jam all four locks and it would have been done one lock at a time.

Milly was already dead when she went over the edge, Taylor decided. It was the only logical explanation. Or perhaps not. Maybe Milly wasn’t even in the car when it went over the cliff. Perhaps someone had made it look as if she was inside to send them off in the wrong direction.

Taylor made a mental note to bring this up when they interviewed Peter Sugden the following morning. She wanted to see his reaction. Her head was spinning from all the contradictory theories that were bouncing around in her brain. She took out her phone and tried calling Killian. It went straight to voicemail. “Jack,” she used his first name for once, “if there’s anything you need, just give me a call.”

She looked at the time. It was almost eight. She picked up the forensic report and headed home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Harriet Taylor was exhausted but she did not feel like going home to her empty house. Alice Green’s words had stuck in her mind: “Don’t give up.”

Maybe I should try again, maybe men aren’t all as bad as Danny. Or Stanley Green.

She found it curious that Alice’s husband had come back and not made an effort to get in touch with his wife of forty years. Even if he was a bastard, nobody was that much of a bastard.

Instead of taking the coast road home, she drove inland to Polgarrow. Alice had pretended not to care that Stanley had been in the area without even popping in to say hello, but Taylor could tell that wasn’t true. She was obviously very hurt.

Taylor tried the Old Boar first. She knew that Stanley’s friend Dennis always drank in the pub in the evening and, if anybody knew where Stanley was, it would be Dennis. She parked outside. The late evening air was thick and muggy. Taylor had been in the south-west long enough now to know that a thunderstorm was coming.

She looked round the bar. Some young people were dancing to a live band. A couple of old men were nursing half pints of ale in the corner of the room, but there was nobody she recognised. “Excuse me,” she shouted to the young barman over the music, “I’m looking for Dennis Albarn. Has he been in tonight?”

“Not yet. Sometimes he comes in a bit later. Want a drink?”

Taylor thought hard for a second.

What am I actually doing here? This is none of my business.

She decided to give Dennis Albarn an hour. If he did not show up in that time, she would leave. “I’ll have a tonic and lime,” she said. She took her drink to the only free table.

The band was good. The singer had an unusual raspy, bluesy voice and the drummer seemed to be lost in a world of his own, banging away on the drums like a maniac. Every now and then he would bash the cymbals so hard Taylor was scared they would break. It made her realise she should get out more, and listen to more music.

* * *

A huge clap of thunder suddenly rattled the glasses behind the bar, making Taylor jump. She checked the time. It was almost nine. She finished her drink and stood up.

“I wouldn’t venture out in that, love,” a man sitting by the bar warned Taylor as she walked past, “that’s going to be a nasty one. I know, I’ve seen them like that before. I reckon the power’s going to be out in a minute. You mark my words.”

As he said that, the music was almost drowned out by the sound of rain hammering on the roof. The man gave Taylor a knowing smile and took a satisfied sip of his beer.

I need to get home. I’m dog-tired and a bit of rain’s never bothered me. Heaven knows we have plenty of it in Scotland. She exited the Old Boar into the downpour. She was drenched in seconds, but the water wasn’t cold. It was quite invigorating. Lightening flashed all around, lighting up the puddles on the road. She stood with her eyes closed, enjoying the feel of the blast on her skin and the sense of being out in the wild. Then she ran to her car and got in.

The rain was still coming down with a vengeance. She couldn’t face driving through it — she was too tired and she knew she couldn’t concentrate properly on the slippery roads — so she decided to wait until the storm had died down a bit. The windows fogged up inside the car.

She took off her soaked shirt and sat in just her bra. Nobody can see me through the steamed-up windows. She lay back on the seat and closed her eyes. She had started to drift off to sleep when the loudest clap of thunder she had ever heard made her jump so violently that she almost hit her head on the windscreen.

There was another loud bang. It shook the ground underneath Taylor’s car. She knew straight away this one wasn’t thunder.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Taylor grabbed her clammy shirt, wrestled it back on and was out of the car in seconds. The rain had relented while she was dozing. She spotted the source of the almighty blast immediately. A house up the road from the pub was on fire.

She prayed no one was inside. Killing two birds with one stone, she phoned the Trotterdown switchboard — to organise a fire engine and to get as many available officers to the scene right away. PC Eric White answered.

“Eric,” she said, “I need a fire engine in Polgarrow immediately. There’s been an explosion just up the road from the Old Boar pub.”

“What are you doing in Polgarrow?” PC White asked.

“Just organise that fire engine,” Taylor told him, “and I need as many available officers here as soon as possible. We need to keep the people away from that house. It’s an inferno already.” She rang off.

The rain had almost stopped. Taylor wished it would pour down again to help extinguish the blaze. She knew she should stay well back — there might be a risk of another explosion — but she approached the burning building. She was desperate to know if anyone was hurt. The fire engine had to travel from Trotterdown. It would take it at least ten minutes to get to Polgarrow and it was clear that the only thing it could do at this stage was damage control.

The next-door cottage was at risk too. Taylor took a deep breath and pushed her way through the heat to try the front door. It opened — nobody round here locked their doors, she thought. She could just make out the shape of a man on the floor in the hallway.

“You have to get out,” she shouted. There was nobody near enough to help — she’d have to try and drag him out. He was an old man, shaking, and clearly in shock. “Come on.” She grabbed his arm and helped him up. “I need to get you out of here now.”

She held his arm but he shrugged her off. He took a framed photograph off the wall in the hallway and followed Taylor out onto the road.

They staggered out into the choking heat and smoke. A crowd had formed outside. Everyone from the pub seemed to be there, along with others, presumably neighbours. “Everybody,” Taylor shouted, “please get back. There might be another explosion. The fire brigade are on their way.”

Right on cue, the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. She reckoned they were still about four minutes away.

“Please,” she shouted again, “move away from the house. If you have to watch, do it from outside the pub.”