I sniffed and rubbed my nose. ‘I suppose so,’ I said. Celine Watts lifted the piece of paper from my fingers.

‘And you found this in his car?’

‘Yes.’

‘But it’s not the car he usually drives?’ She was looking over my shoulder again. ‘How did he die?’

‘I don’t know.’ I think she could see that I was lying. ‘Do you mind if I take a look?’

‘A look at what?’

‘A look at the car.’ She squeezed past me, leaving her door wide open. I wanted to tell her that all the heat would escape, it was the sort of thing my mum would say. But instead, I followed her. She opened the passenger door. ‘Area like this, you should have locked it,’ she said. She was opening the glove box.

‘My gloves wouldn’t fit,’ I explained, but she wasn’t listening. She took out a book and started turning its pages. It had drawings of all the parts of the car. But at the back there was another piece of paper, folded in four. She opened it up.

‘It’s a bill,’ she said, ‘for fixing the car.’ Then she stopped speaking. There was a gurgling sound in her throat. Her mouth stayed open.

‘Gravy,’ she said, ‘do you know a man called Donald Empson?’

I shook my head. ‘Is this his car?’

‘I think so,’ she said. ‘It’s his name on the bill.’

‘And you know him?’

She placed a hand to her chest, as if to check her heartbeat. Warm heart, cool head. ‘I know who he is,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you sure you don’t know how your friend Benjy died?’

‘I think someone killed him.’ Tears were coming into my eyes. I wiped them away.

‘He was a friend of yours?’

‘Yes.’ I repeated it four more times for luck. She seemed to be thinking about things, staring into the distance. Then she turned her attention to the open door of her house.

‘Police told me I’d be safe,’ she said. She shook her head slowly. We stood together in silence for a minute, and then she asked me what was in the bag. It was on the floor in front of the passenger seat.