‘How did the dog manage to bite your husband on the nose?’ I asked.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Mrs Coopertown.

‘You said your husband was bitten on the nose,’ I said. ‘The dog’s very small. How did it reach his nose?’

‘My stupid husband bent down,’ said Mrs Coopertown. ‘We were out for a walk on the Heath, all three of us, when this dog came running up. My husband bent down to pat the dog and snap, with no warning, it had bitten him on the nose. At first I thought it was quite comical, but Brandon started screaming and then that nasty little man ran over and started yelling, “Oh, what are you doing to my poor dog, leave him alone.”’

‘The “nasty little man” being the owner of the dog?’ asked Nightingale.

‘Nasty little dog, nasty little man,’ said Mrs Coopertown.

‘Was your husband upset?’

‘How can you tell with an Englishman?’ asked Mrs Coopertown. ‘I went to get something for the blood and when I got back Brandon was laughing — everything is a joke to you people. I had to call the police myself. They came, Brandon showed them his nose and they started laughing. Everyone was happy, even the nasty little dog was happy.’

‘But you weren’t happy?’ I asked.

‘It’s not a question of happy,’ said Mrs Coopertown. ‘If a dog bites a man, what’s to stop it from biting a child or a baby?’

‘May I ask where you were last Tuesday night?’ asked Nightingale.

‘Where I am every night,’ she said. ‘Here, taking care of my son.’

‘And where was your husband?’

August Coopertown, annoying yes, blonde yes, stupid no, replied, ‘Why do you want to know?’ she asked.

‘It’s not important,’ said Nightingale.

‘I thought you were here about the dog,’ she said.