‘No. Not that I saw anyway. There was talk around the village that he’d done a runner. He didn’t turn up for work. He just seemed to vanish into thin air.’
A dark feeling presses down on me. ‘So, nobody ever saw him again?’
‘There was talk he’d gone abroad. Had another family. But who knows. And no. Nobody saw him again. Not after he walked out on Dorothy.’
‘And what happened to their house?’
‘It belonged to the council, back then. There were all kinds of rumours about Bobby. That he was involved with gangsters, that he owed money, that he was a bad ’un.’ She laughs drily. ‘I was just glad for Dotty. Her life was so much better without him in it. So much better.’
And yet it seems he had come back. To kill Dorothea.
When I’m in the garden washing the dirt from Solly’s paws after our morning walk, my phone buzzes again. I let Solly go so that I can answer it and he runs into the middle of the terrace and shakes himself dry.
It’s Annette.
‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t talk to you properly yesterday,’ she says. She sounds much more composed today. ‘I had just found out about Maisie and I was in bits. I still am. But the shock. You know.’
‘I totally understand, Annette. It’s just dreadful news. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.’ I take a deep breath. Part of me still isn’t convinced I’m doing the right thing, but I’m getting nowhere with this sculpture and Annette might be able to help. Especially if she is also in danger. And then I’m going to have to tell DI Shirley about its existence. What if I’m withholding evidence? I couldn’t live with myself if anyone else got hurt. ‘Um, Annette. I haven’t been completely honest with you.’
She takes a deep breath.
‘I didn’t know who to trust,’ I say. ‘I still don’t, not really. But I need your help.’
‘What’s this about?’
‘Dorothea left me some co-ordinates after she died. And they led me to a bunker in her woods. In that bunker was a piece of artwork. A papier-mâché sculpture.’
There is a shocked silence at the end of the line.
‘Annette?’
‘Yes. Sorry. Yes, I’m still here. I’m just very surprised. I thought all her work had been destroyed in the fire.’
‘I think she left this piece back on purpose. And I need your help to work out the clues. You knew her better than anyone.’
‘Clues?’
I explain about the magpies and the trinkets attached.
‘Someone has been looking for this sculpture, Annette. I think whoever killed Dorothea knows of its existence and is trying to stop the truth from coming out.’
‘I’m finding this so hard to believe …’ Her voice sounds small.
‘Did she ever say anything to you about a secret sculpture?’
‘I … I don’t know. I can’t remember. She might have but … I don’t know. When can I see it?’
Is she lying? She sounds rattled.
‘Are you free now?’
‘I’ll be there within the hour.’
Annette is silent as she surveys the sculpture. She’s slipped a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on and I watch as she examines every detail, gently touching the papier-mâché and fingering the fabrics. She lingers over each trinket, folding back the sleeves of the wool jacket and touching the lace beneath. I almost expect her to try and undo the buttons of the jacket, but she stops short of doing that, thank goodness. The buttons are just for show.
She shakes her head and takes a step back. ‘I can only surmise. Dotty had such a cryptic mind. I never really did understand her art.’
I point to the brooch. ‘Alison says this belonged to my mum. Do you recognize it?’
