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particular about time-keeping.’
    ‘And was there anything unusual abouttoday? What sort of mood was Sean in?’
    She faltered at this deviation from the recounting of hard fact. ‘Well, he wasn’t doing the milking, even though it should have been one of his days. Gordon asked him to swap shifts so he could go to some meeting or other in Okehampton. That’s quite unusual. And Sean couldn’t just take the time off and go somewhere because there were still things he had to do. He wasn’t that bothered about it for himself, but he didn’t like it on principle. Being messed about just for some whim on the part of the boss.’ Den could hear the quotation marks and assumed that Sean had probably used those very words. He felt the familiar handicapping sense of ignorance at the outset of any murder inquiry: he didn’t know what Sean O’Farrell had been like, how he got on with Hillcock, what was important in his life. So much to discover, and probably little of it directly relevant. But he squared his shoulders and breathed deep. He had to press on.
    ‘So you were worried when he didn’t come back? If he wasn’t milking, wouldn’t you have expected him to be home for at least part of the afternoon?’
    She sighed. ‘To be honest with you, I was asleep. And even if I’d been awake, I wouldn’t have worried. I’d have thought he might havebeen held up with a cow calving or something. There’s always plenty to do on a farm.’
    ‘So the time-keeping isn’t always so precise?’ Den said.
    She blinked up at him. ‘It is at dinner time,’ she insisted petulantly. ‘And Sean knows I depend on him for almost everything these days. He wouldn’t have left me alone for long. This young man arrived before I really missed Sean. He woke me up.’
    ‘You were asleep here? In the chair?’
    ‘That’s right. It’s cold upstairs when the weather’s like this.’
    ‘How long had you been sleeping?’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ The impatience was mixed with self-pity. ‘Since about half past three or four, I suppose.’
    ‘The fire had almost gone out,’ Mike offered. ‘I built it up again for the lady.’
    ‘Very kind of you,’ Den remarked. ‘It’s certainly pretty warm in here now.’ He glanced around and noticed as well as the blazing fire, a free-standing gas heater behind her chair, going full pelt. No wonder the room was so stifling. He decided not to make any further notes for now. There was still the matter of who, if anyone, was to sit with the widow, to support her in her shock and grief.
    ‘Would you like us to find your daughter andbring her home?’ he suggested. ‘She ought to be back as soon as possible, in the circumstances.’
    The woman shuddered. ‘No, no. God, I can’t cope with her throwing tantrums at a time like this! Let her alone for tonight. You can go and get her in the morning. I’ll give you the address. Although …’ A new, disturbing thought seemed to have struck her.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘There’s her animals. Normally, when she’s out, Sean does them for her.’
    ‘Animals?’
    ‘She keeps some … pets … outside. A sort of amateur rescue shelter in the back garden.’ Mrs O’Farrell frowned.
    ‘And they need to be fed?’
    She nodded. ‘There’s a bag of pellets and some hay in the back scullery.’
    ‘I’m afraid you might have to do it yourself,’ he told her, trying to keep the severity out of his voice.
    She threw him a look of pure amazement. ‘Me?’ she squawked. ‘But I never do it.’
    Mike stepped forward. ‘Let me,’ he offered. ‘Is it rabbits – that sort of thing?’
    The new widow had shifted into uncooperative mode. ‘All sorts of things,’ she mumbled, shrinking down in her chair. Den felt a great urge to shake her, force her onto her feet, urge her totake some sort of control of her own life.
    ‘Come on, then,’ he snapped, angry with Mike for volunteering and himself for being so churlish.
    Outside, the land sloped downhill, a