In conversation with Maggie, Hannah played it down. The young DC’s enthusiasm was one of her virtues, but no sense in jumping to conclusions. Cumbria was a small world, albeit so diverse that anyone could be forgiven for forgetting. The local population was tiny, once you stripped out seasonal workers and tourists who came from all four corners of the globe. For the wife of a suspected murder victim to be interviewed in relation to the unexplained death, six years ago, of a work colleague barely registered on the Richter scale of coincidence. But you never knew. Wanda intrigued Hannah. The sight of Arlo Denstone, drenched with red wine at the New Year party, remained as vivid in her memory as the stain on his white jacket. Wanda had a temper, and she lacked restraint. She’d had too much to drink that night, and seemed at the end of her tether. But it didn’t mean she had anything to do with Bethany’s death. The brutal shock of having a husband roasted alive was enough to drive anyone to distraction.
