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hours. You both surely deserve a little pampering. I’m Lisa Simmons, by the way, Jim’s wife.’ A boy of around eight and a girl a couple of years younger tumbled into the room behind her in raucous pursuit, anxious to see who it was who was visiting at this hour of family relaxation. ‘And these two are Jamie and Ellie, anxious to view the famous detective and no doubt to impede his progress. Out, please, kids, and take your noise and your toys with you.’ The children obeyed, though not before the boy had shaken hands solemnly with John Lambert and the girl had introduced the toy dog she carried to Bert Hook.
    ‘Sorry about that,’ said Jim Simmons, looking affectionately at the door his wife had closed securely to prevent further interruption. ‘Do help yourself to scones and jam.’ He poured milk and tea carefully into the cups his wife had laid out and handed them a little clumsily to his guests. His movements said that he was a man too active to be accustomed to tea and scones in the afternoon.
    Hook was much easier than Lambert in this situation. He bit into his scone appreciatively and said, ‘How long have you been married, Mr Simmons?’
    ‘Eleven years, now. I can’t believe how fast kids grow.’ With that entirely conventional sentiment, Simmons too bit into his scone, viewing it and its coating of home-made jam with approval.
    This was altogether too cosy for John Lambert, who had not come here to witness pleasant domesticity, but to pursue a serious criminal inquiry. He said tersely, ‘Were you in a serious relationship at the time when the corpse of the young woman was buried on your land?’
    ‘It was not my land twenty years ago. I believe that you have already spoken to Daniel Burrell, the man who owned the land and farmed here at that time. I’m sure he was able to tell you more than I shall be able to do.’
    So Burrell had rung him. Warned him, in fact. Why had he thought it necessary to do that? As if he read these thoughts, Simmons said, ‘He still takes an interest in me, old Daniel. Thinks I need looking after, I expect. Thinks I’m still eighteen, as I was when I first came to work for him twenty-five years ago. I appreciate his concern, even though I learned to look after myself a long time ago. But he was always good to me, was Dan. He had a son of his own, who wasn’t interested in farming and took a different course in life. I sometimes felt that I was like another, adopted son, because I took on the role on the farm which he had hoped his son would fulfil.’
    ‘And how did that manifest itself? I suspect that you already know that we visited Mr Burrell in the care home this morning. He told us virtually nothing about you and the way the two of you felt about each other.’
    ‘Did he? Well, that’s Dan, I suppose – it doesn’t surprise me. He’d let you form your own impressions, let me make my own way with you.’ He smiled affectionately. ‘I visit him regularly, you know. He still wants to know what goes on here, what changes I am making and whether I think they are successful.’
    ‘Do you own this farm now?’
    ‘Yes. I completed the payments five years ago. Not long before his wife died. Emily was very good to me too. I think she loved me.’ He made that daring claim without hesitation, without the embarrassment a sturdy English yeoman should show in declaring such things. He was plainly proud of being close to the Burrells, of being trusted and liked by them. Bert Hook thought he could understand that; having seen and liked the former proprietor of Lower Valley Farm that morning, he could only think that a man who had acquired his trust and friendship must be a man of some quality.
    Lambert apparently had no such thoughts. He said bluntly, ‘This place must have cost you a lot of money.’
    Hook thought Simmons might show the usual British outrage at being questioned about money matters – in his experience, many people were prepared to be surprisingly