‘You mean,’ began Pat slowly.
‘People don’t generally make a point of announcing their departure from a holiday cottage,’ said Thelma. ‘They just go.’
‘So, you think what?’ said Pat.
Thelma stirred her coffee. ‘I suppose it just feels to me a bit like she was drawing attention to the fact she was leaving.’
‘Is she on this CCTV?’ said Pat to Liz.
Liz nodded, and with a bit of difficulty wound back the video to show the slight figure in a fleece and beanie trotting across the road.
‘There she is,’ she said. ‘And there she is coming back – and there she is driving off – and the time stamp’s saying four oh three.’ She rewound the video and froze it as the figure was crossing the lane. ‘It could be Caro Miranda,’ she said. ‘Or Chloe even. You just can’t tell with her in that fleece and hat.’
‘It could even be Son Masters,’ said Pat. ‘Tiffany did say he reminded her of someone she knew who worked as a drag artist. A touch of make-up, that higher voice – and remember a fleece is a fairly androgynous garment.’
‘Not always.’ Liz’s lips thinned as she thought of her beloved green garment hanging on the back of the utility room door. Her mouth opened. ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s just come to me.’
‘What has?’ said Thelma.
‘My fleece,’ said Liz. ‘I’ve not worn it for weeks now – it’s been hanging on the back door all this time—’
‘So?’ said Pat.
‘So,’ said Liz triumphantly, ‘Friday 13 June was right at the start of the heatwave. Why wear a fleece and hat?’
‘Unless they were disguising themselves,’ said Pat in excitement. ‘So, it could have been Caro or ChloeorSon!’
‘Except,’ said Thelma. She was speaking in her best Key-Stage-One-planning voice, which told Liz and Pat she was about to roundly rain on their parade.
‘Go on,’ said Pat long-sufferingly.
‘The time.’ Thelma pointed at the time stamp on the screen. ‘Four oh three p.m. Chloe would certainly have been at school, Caro too – Son and Annie would have been arriving around then for the service.’
‘So, it must’ve been Ffion after all!’ said Liz triumphantly. ‘Don’t forget those boots in the kitchen cupboard.’
Thelma looked at Liz and frowned as she stirred her coffee. ‘You said those boots had too much paint on?’
Liz nodded. ‘I only got a few specks on mine. But Ffion might have been in a hurry – or upset or drunk or something – and splashed paint everywhere.’
‘In which case,’ said Thelma. ‘Why wasn’t there paint on the floor and walls?’
‘Someone put a dust sheet down?’ said Pat.
‘Or maybe,’ said Thelma, ‘it was a fake.’
‘But I sawthe boots,’ said Liz.
‘No,’ said Thelma. ‘I mean maybe someone splashed them with paint and put them in the cupboard.Someone who wasn’tFfion.’
‘You mean plantedthem?’ said Pat excitedly. ‘To implicate Ffion?’
Thelma nodded. ‘And those rumours that have been posted about her on the website,’ said Thelma. ‘Those vague accusations – just like happened with Neville.’
They looked at each other.
‘It strikes me,’ said Pat, ‘we’ve lots of questions but precious few answers.’
‘Maybe we’ll get some off this Bun Widdup person tomorrow,’ said Liz.
