Knowles screwed up his face with doubt and rubbed his chin. Barnes nodded.

“Well, that’s a theory,” said Knowles,”but, she must have been drunk or blind. Strong too, to smack him on the back of the head at the same time as looking seductive. I’m not sure I’d go anywhere near a woman holding a brick, even if I was desperate.”

“There’s a picnic table over there,” said Barnes, “wouldn’t that have been a better place.”

“The voice of experience,” said Knowles, looking at Smythe and pointing at Barnes, “but I understand what he means.”

“Perhaps there was an accomplice, like Bonnie and Clyde, the woman, the distraction the man with the implement.” 

“You could be correct, Linda, I’m not discounting it at all. Barnesy, what else is there?”

“He lives in the village and has done so for about 20 years. He was a waiter at the bistro here when it was open and before that at a couple of restaurants in Scoresby. That’s all I found out from a couple of passers-by.”

“Fair enough,” said Knowles, “we should get those PCs on the house-to-house once we’re at the victim’s home. Shall we try to find the object? Let’s take 5 minutes to see if there’s anything obvious.”

The three police inspected the area with great care, but came up with nothing. Knowles bent over the body and noted that the victim wasn’t wearing any jewellery.

“You looked in his wallet, Sergeant?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s in this plastic bag,” said Barnes, “his credit cards are there and thirty pounds in cash, plus some loose change in his jacket pocket. They did not rob him unless he was wearing a pendant or something. His watch is still there too. Nothing expensive.”

“OK, Forensics can have this, I see they’re over there looking alert. Linda, go to the pub and ask the landlord, Tim Fearns, what Andy Booth was up to last night and whether he was with anyone at any point in the evening. And ask about the jewellery too. Not that anyone would have been examining him that closely. Then come over to the cottage at….what’s the address, Sergeant Barnes?”

“12 London Street,” replied Barnes, “thankfully, people in these remote villages still know each other’s business.”

“Indeed, parochialism has its uses sometimes,” said Knowles, “OK, DC Smythe, any questions?”

“No, sir,” said Smythe, “everything is very clear.”

“OK, let’s split, as people used to say, and meet up at the victim’s cottage at a time to be determined by fate.”