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was for sure. Shackleton would provide no more answers now. He flushed, hunched his shoulders and dug his hands deep into his pockets, staring at a point somewhere behind her right shoulder, leaving her to watch the diminishing figure of the neighbouring farmer.
    Hostility there may have been. But it had still been to Fallowfield, Martin Pinkers’ farm, that Shackleton had headed when he had discovered the bodies.
    Yet looking at the wide, empty panorama where else could he have gone?
    Something else had struck Joanna. He had not mentioned Ruthie Summers until she had started questioning him about the family. But if Ruthie had been the female pivot of the farm what would be more natural than that she would have been standing in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, when the assailant had blasted her father and brother with the gun? And if Ruthie had been the one to call them in from the yard what would be more natural than that they would come? So where was she now ?
    Her mind was working furiously. If they found Ruthie inside the farmhouse their theory would not fit. They had assumed the assailant had not crossed the threshold but had fired two blasts from the doorway without entering the room. Besides ... the weapon was a double barrelled shotgun. A third shot would mean reloading, a lengthy, cumbersome process. And already she was moving forward. If Ruthie Summers was not in the house or the barns or the milking parlour or anywhere else on the farm ...
    Shackleton broke into her thoughts with a sharp exclamation. ‘The old woman,’ he said. ‘She’ll have to be told. Someone will ‘ave to tell ‘er.’
    â€˜What old woman?’
    â€˜Miss Lockley.’ He sounded surprised she didn’t know. ‘Miss Hannah Lockley. She will have to be told. She’ll be the next of kin. Close to the family she was. And if anythin’s happened to Ruthie she’ll go fair mad. Devoted to ‘er she was.’
    â€˜And where does she ...?’
    Shackleton jerked his head. ‘She lives in the cottage along the way. Brooms, it’s called. She was Mrs Summers’ older sister, aunt to Ruthie and Jack.’
    Joanna craned her neck to peer along the track but it bent too far to the left. ‘Where is the cottage?’
    â€˜You can’t see it from here but if you’d carried on up the road instead of turning in you’d have come to it. Small, pretty place it is. Stone built with two trees at the front. You can’t miss it. The name’s on the gate.’
    â€˜Thank you, Mr Shackleton.’ She paused for a moment, anxious to set the facts straight in her mind. ‘Can I just get something clear?’
    â€˜Sure.’
    â€˜Miss Hannah Lockley was sister-in-law to Mr Aaron Summers?’
    â€˜That’s right. And special fond of little Ruthie she was. Loved ‘er, she did, like she was her own daughter. She will be destroyed by all this.’
    Joanna noted he had used the past tense to speak about Ruthie.
    Wearily she moved to go back into the house.
    â€˜We’ll want a formal statement from you at some point.’
    â€˜No problem,’ he said. ‘You can get in touch with me through the depot.’
    â€˜And I suppose we’ll have to ask Miss Lockley to identify the bodies. Although if she’s elderly ...’
    Shackleton gave a dry, mirthless laugh. ‘She ain’t the traditional old lady,’ he said. ‘Tough as old boots she is. Still ‘elps get the hay-bales in.’
    Delaying the moment when she would have to go back into the house she followed him with her eyes as he climbed back into the tanker and swung it out of the farmyard, raising clouds of dust. It might be interesting to study the tyre tracks at some point. Had he really left in such a hurry? Seconds later further clouds were raised by the arrival of the police mobile incident unit. Joanna turned around. It was time to return to the abattoir.
    Maybe she