‘So she’d just work spring and summer, I suppose, not being one of the skilled staff?’

He coloured very slightly. ‘No, she had a permanent position. People do still come, even in winter. And house plants and fir trees at Christmas, we’re pulled—’

‘But wouldn’t your core staff be able to cope with the reduced demand?’ Anderson asked, and Crane had to admire his knack for feigned ignorance.

‘I can’t see what my staff arrangements have to do with anything!’ he burst out.

‘Perhaps I’m missing something,’ Crane said politely, ‘but why keep on an unskilled person when there really wouldn’t be much for her to do?’

He looked to be biting back another outburst. Then he forced a smile, his first. ‘Look, boys, give me a break, the kid looked like a film star, for Christ’s sake. She pulled in the punters. She had charm. She’d give the blokes the big dazzling smiles and they kept on coming back here instead of going elsewhere.’ His gaze passed between them unfocused. ‘I had big ideas for Donna Jackson,’ he said, and Crane heard the same catch in his voice he’d heard before in the voices of other men. ‘I was aiming to get that Fletcher guy to photograph her in a Leaf and Petal blouse and transpose her image over a view of the nursery. I was going to run it week in, week out in an advert in the Standard. I was going to have a big blow up version on a billboard over the main entrance, so that every time you saw that kid’s marvellous face you thought of Leaf and Petal.’

‘Great idea, Mr Hellewell,’ Anderson said with a sympathetic nod.

‘Did … Donna have any other duties, sir, apart from those you mentioned?’ Crane spoke hesitantly, as if regretting having to break into Hellewell’s mood of sad reverie.

His eyes refocused with an effort. ‘She did deliveries. We do those for a few seniors and people who bring a lot of business.’

‘Would there be a record of deliveries?’

Crane felt Anderson stirring and could sense his watchfulness. What new ball was the PI running with now?

‘We keep a book,’ Hellewell told them. ‘The accounts are drawn up from it as we bill the people we deliver to. The initials of the person who delivers go in the book. What’s that got to do with anything?’ He looked genuinely puzzled, but Crane guessed Anderson knew.

‘I’d just be interested to see where Donna made those deliveries. It might be worth checking out some of the people she made them to. Would you mind letting us see the delivery book?’

Hellewell’s wary eyes left Crane’s and he keyed a phone. ‘Gail, a man called Mr Crane would like to see the delivery books. It’s to do with the audit. He’ll be along presently.’ He looked back at Crane. ‘You’ll find her in the checkout area.’

‘Thank you. One last point, sir. Do you know of a man Donna might have known called Adrian?’

That was the query that did the business. Hellewell might have had his throat cut the way healthy colour drained rapidly from his face. He shook his head, then shook it again and again. ‘I don’t know anyone Donna knew, apart from Mahon and Clive Fletcher,’ he said, through lips he could barely control. ‘Any … anyone at all. The name means absolutely nothing to me.’

‘Are you sure, Mr Hellewell?’ Anderson asked softly. ‘You seem a little agitated.’

‘It’s you lot,’ he almost whispered. ‘PIs, reporters, police, bombarding me with questions, raking it all up about that lovely kid. I’m sorry, I’m finding it hard to cope.’

It seemed to Crane he’d coped pretty well until he’d heard that single word: Adrian. He knew from experience the value of leaving someone like Hellewell, who clearly knew something and was running scared, to sweat it out for a while. He got up. ‘Well, if the name should come back to you in any context, sir, I’d be very glad to know. It’s very, very important. Perhaps I could check with you tomorrow?’

‘There’d be no point!’ he yelped. ‘I don’t know any Adrian.’

‘Thank you for your time, sir. Anything else you need to ask Mr Hellewell, Geoff?’

They left him staring into space.

‘Brother,’ Anderson said, ‘did that touch the spot. His face changed like a traffic light. That bloody technique of yours, just tossing it in when he thought he was out of the woods. How do you always manage to make it look so easy? And that delivery business, it never crossed my mind. She just might have met someone that way.’

There was a petulance in Anderson’s tone that he fought hard to contain. Crane was certain the possibility of Hellewell being linked to an Adrian had to be their hottest lead yet, and should have been the total focus of both their minds, but as usual Anderson was brooding more about Crane’s superior skills.

‘Geoff,’ he said patiently, ‘I’ve been at it for years and I’ve learnt to let nothing go by default. Checking out deliveries is bound to be a blind alley, but I’ll do it anyway. It doesn’t begin to compare with him throwing a wobbly about Adrian.’

‘You’re right,’ he said, striving to mask the grudging note. ‘OK, this Adrian—’

‘Geoff?’ Someone spoke from behind them as they made for the checkout area. It was Mrs Hellewell. ‘Could I have a word?’

‘Of course, Kirsty,’ he said, giving her that instant flattering concentration he showed all women. ‘This is Frank Crane. We’re working together on Donna’s case now that Mahon’s out of it. He’s a private investigator.’

‘Hello,’ she said absently to Crane. ‘I’ve got my own little cubbyhole off the café. Perhaps we could go in there.’

‘Lead the way.’

‘It’s … well, it’s very private. I need your advice.’

‘They don’t come more discreet than Frank, Kirsty.’

‘Please, Geoff. I’m sorry, Mr Crane, no offence.’

‘None taken, Mrs Hellewell. I’ll go chat to Gail, Geoff.’

Crane watched them walk off. Mrs Hellewell appeared to be looking warily around her. He wasn’t happy about this. He couldn’t be sure he could trust Anderson not to keep some vital card up his sleeve to put one over on him, in that intense, competitive way he had, and waste him time. Assuming what she had to tell him had any relevance to the case.

Gail was a mousy haired hefty young woman with a cheerful smile. They sat down with the delivery book at a display garden table in the entrance hall.

‘You’re not the usual auditor, are you?’

‘I’m just helping out with the debtor’s tab. There are one or two queries that go back to the time when Miss Jackson was here.’

She sighed. ‘Poor Donna. She was really, really good on the money side too, making sure everything was invoiced properly.’

He nodded, not needing to be assured of her expert touch on the money side. ‘Her initials went against the deliveries she made, yes? So what sort of people did you deliver to?’

‘Elderly folk mainly. Wealthy business types short on time. We had to know them really well for Joe – Mr Hellewell – to deliver.’

They began to sift through the names in the months leading up to Donna’s death. They all seemed above suspicion, going by Gail’s description. ‘It was mostly seniors, you see. Some of the business folk did forget to settle their accounts occasionally, that’s true. Now then … Miss Julia Gregson, that was one address she went to several times.’ She flicked over pages. ‘Funny,’ she murmured, ‘I remembered thinking at the time what a lot of stuff we sent to Cheyney Hall.’

‘Miss Gregson being another elderly lady?’

She shook her head. ‘Mid-thirties, I’d say. Pots of brass. Doesn’t need to work, I believe. I should be so lucky.’

Instinct told him that this might just be worth checking out, but some thing more positive prompted him, something he couldn’t quite pin down. ‘Were all Miss Gregson’s deliveries made by Donna?’

She nodded. ‘Look, there’s a little note here in Joe’s writing: “Miss Gregson requests that all her deliveries be made by Donna.” That explains it. She had such a nice way with customers.’