As Tom unlocked and opened his front door, the widow pushed by and flounced ahead of him to the lifted end of his counter. ‘I said half an hour. I take it you haven’t got a clock down there, Mrs Dolan?’ ‘I came up here this morning and I told you all I knew about that Squire girl and I haven’t learned anything new since this morning, and if you’ve got any thoughts of charging me for serving afternoon tea and raising money for the orphans, then just try discrediting an eighty year old, churchgoing dairyman when I put him on the witness stand.’ She glanced around his office, obviously not seeing who she was expecting to see. ‘Where is he?’ ‘He’ll be here any tick. He’s going to enjoy meeting up with you again,’ Tom said, picking up the chair Vern Lowe had been cuffed to. As he set it on its legs, offered it, he noticed the wobble in one leg and withdrew his offer. She sat on his chair and started rummaging in her handbag for cigarettes and matches. Tom pushed a rung back into its hole, a leg back into the seat, gave each a hammer with the heel of his hand, then tested the chair with his weight.
