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mean.’
    Anna remained silent.
    â€˜A sad house,’ he concluded tonelessly, turning to her. ‘Why d’you think that is?’
    â€˜A man’s disappeared.’
    He shook his head. ‘That wasn’t what I meant. The sadness was underlying. Invasive.’
    â€˜Invasive?’ She smiled.
    â€˜It’s funny, isn’t it – the things people end up wanting out of life.’
    Ignoring this – it was too ambivalent, and she was too exhausted – she said, ‘They were in shock.’
    â€˜Martha Deane was – yes.’
    â€˜And Laura Deane,’ Anna insisted, unsure why she suddenly felt the need to insist on this when she hadn’t believed it herself. ‘There’s no right way to show shock – you know that.’
    â€˜I think Laura Deane was enjoying the attention – to a point.’
    Even though she agreed with him, Anna didn’t comment on this. She’d sensed the same thing – as well as a mixture of anxiety and what could only be described as excitement coming off Laura, but she didn’t mention this either. Partly because she felt the Inspector already knew these things, and partly because she hadn’t yet made up her mind about Inspector Laviolette. She didn’t know how she felt about Laura either, but there was definitely an old childish loyalty there, which surprised her. To put it another way, she didn’t feel quite ready to sacrifice Laura to the Inspector – not until she was certain of a few more facts herself.
    â€˜And I’d like to see Bryan Deane’s life insurance policy,’ the Inspector added. When this provoked no response either, he said, ‘Who are you protecting?’
    â€˜Myself.’ Looking at the clock in the dashboard, she said, ‘For the past twenty minutes I’ve been unable to shake the impression that I’m somehow under suspicion.’
    â€˜Of what?’
    Then his phone started ringing. He checked the caller and switched it off, looking momentarily much older. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said. Then, ‘I might want to call you again.’
    â€˜DS Chambers has got my details.’
    He hesitated then dropped the phone back into his coat pocket.
    Anna got out of the car.
    The rain was easing off, and she was about to shut the door when she said, ‘Laviolette’s an unusual name.’
    â€˜Not to me it isn’t.’
    She looked up instinctively at the house and he followed her gaze. There was a curtain moving at the window above the front porch, as if it had just been dropped back into place.
    â€˜D’you want to know something I noticed?’
    She stood waiting by the car.
    Even though the rain was easing off, her hair and face felt wet and there was a fine dusting of water over the front of her jumper still.
    â€˜Laura Deane’s not half as upset by Bryan Deane’s disappearance as you are.’
    The yellow Ford Capri turned out of the Duneside development and headed north up the coastal road. There were soon high dunes running alongside the car beyond Anna’s right shoulder as the beam from St Mary’s lighthouse flashed precisely over treacherous waters and, inland, over a betrayed country that was only just getting to its knees again. It wasn’t yet standing, but it was at least kneeling and this was what determined local councillors wanted people to know as they set about transforming the past into heritage with the smattering of civic art that had sprung up – like the quayside statue outside the apartment in Blyth that she’d taken a short-term let on.
    She took the Links Road past the Royal Northumberland Yacht Club and warehouses on South Harbour before turning into Ridley Avenue, which ran past the recently regenerated Ridley Park. It was where the medical men used to live and practice and was once nicknamed Doctors’ Row, even though the houses weren’t built as one, low strung,