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the youngsters had obviously worked hard – even Vivienne had done her fair share.
    And first on the list was Melvin McRae’s latest telephone number. She dialled it, but it rang for so long that she almost gave up, before it was at last answered.
    ‘Yes?’
    The voice was male and sounded distracted.
    ‘Mr McRae? Melvin McRae?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘This is Hillary Greene, sir. I’m a consultant with the Crime Review Team, at Thames Valley Police Headquarters in Kidlington. You may have received a letter in the post, concerning you wife’s – that is Anne McRae’s – case? I wanted to know when would be a convenient time for us to meet.’
    In his home, Melvin McRae sat down suddenly. He was in his living room, and through the window he could see the square tower of the nearby church. He swallowed hard.
    Bloody hell, that was quick. He’d only just got the letter that morning. He thought he’d have more time. A lot more time. Weeks, or at the very least, days. He wasn’t ready for this.
    ‘Oh, yes, right. Well, whenever you like really. But look, I don’t want the kids upset, yeah? Do you have to talk to them as well? They were only nippers when their mum died.’
    Hillary leaned back in her chair, reaching for her diary. ‘I understand that, sir. We’ll have to speak to them, of course, but I don’t think we’ll have to take up too much of their time.’ And they weren’t nippers any more she thought, but then, she fully understood that to their father they’d always be his children and in need of protection. Even when they were in their sixties and he was a doddering ninety-something.
    Melvin sighed heavily. ‘How about tomorrow then?’
    ‘Fine. What time?’
    They agreed on a time late the next afternoon, and Hillary hung up. She sat there for a few moments, wondering about Melvin.
    Whenever someone was murdered, the spouse was always looked at first. It was inevitable. Nearly all of those not killed by strangers, were killed by family members, lovers, or close friends. And normally someone with a rock-solid alibi made Hillary look very closely indeed.
    But she couldn’t see how Melvin could be in the frame for this. Andrew Squires had done a good job checking him out, even going so far as to see if any of Melvin’s holiday makers had known him beforehand, thus giving rise to the possibility of collusion. But none had, and no connection between any of them to each other had ever been found either. And the last group of people to be dropped off from Melvin’s coach that day had been six in number, all comprised of married couples. So for his alibi to be false, it would require a conspiracy of at least seven people.
    And that, as any copper would tell you, was just not doable. Forget about all the conspiracy theories that become so popular nowadays. It was hard enough for two people to share a secret and not come unstuck. Let alone seven.
    Besides, why would six strangers agree to lie for him? Most people could be persuaded by money, of course, but Melvin was hardly a man with enough dosh to tempt three respectable middle-aged to elderly couples to wander from the straight and narrow.
    Besides, the coach’s mileage had also been checked out. And then there were all the office workers and garage people who’d confirmed his timings and whereabouts.
    No. Melvin McRae definitely had to be out of the picture. Unless he was clever enough to think of a way to get home and kill his wife in such a way that neither Squires, herself, nor anyone else working on the case had been able to figure out.
    Which wasn’t impossible, of course. There were a lot of very clever people about, and until she’d seen Melvin for herself and assessed him, she had no way of guessing at his possible intelligence.
    Still, it was a long shot.
    He could have had an accomplice, of course, but that presented its own difficulties….
    She sat upright as a tap came at the office door and Steven Crayle looked in.
    ‘Hello. I heard you