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Elizabeth Rice and Alan Marsh had ushered a tearful Danny inside, where the local doctor – a man who looked as if he was popping in on his way to a surfing competition – had given him a sedative.

Marvel had gone over to the Beetle and said something biting to Jonas about police brutality but hadn’t really meant it. Somebody had needed to stop Danny Marsh and, for the first time since coming to Shipcott, he felt Jonas Holly had done the right thing, albeit a little over-enthusiastically. There might be some fallout from that, but somehow Marvel doubted it. The mood in the street had been one of relief that it was all over, rather than shock at how.

And now Reynolds had a theory.

‘I was thinking about what you said. About the link between Margaret Priddy and Yvonne Marsh.’

‘Yes?’ said Marvel, mildly encouraged that this particular ‘proposal’ might be based on something sensible.

‘There’s something called the tipping point,’ said Reynolds. ‘You heard of it?’

Marvel hated that kind of question. If he said no, Reynolds would elucidate in minute detail; if he said yes, he’d be lying and then might not grasp what came next.

‘No,’ he said, in a tone that demanded that Reynolds take no more than thirty seconds to explain it to him. It was a very specific tone and Reynolds knew it well, so he did his best.

‘It’s something which tips the balance and creates a deviation from the normal path of events.’ That wasn’t wholly accurate, but it wasn’t long enough to piss Marvel off.

‘For instance, you know all those Japanese kids who commit suicide – a whole bunch of them, one after another, like it’s catching?’

‘What’s your point, Reynolds?’

‘The theory is that one suicide can spark others. People become aware of the suicide, and kids who wouldn’t have gone that far before suddenly consider it. A few more actually do it – as if they have permission to kill themselves because it seems that everybody’s doing it – it’s no longer taboo. And before you know it, kids are topping themselves because their dog ate their homework, and you’ve got an epidemic on your hands. You’ve passed the tipping point.’

Marvel said nothing, so Reynolds knew he had his attention.

‘You asked me about the link. And I was thinking of what you said about Margaret Priddy and Yvonne Marsh both being a burden to their families. The methods are different, not consistent. Maybe the killers are different too. Maybe the killer of Yvonne Marsh felt he had permission because someone had already killed Margaret Priddy.’

‘So you’re saying Alan Marsh could have killed his wife because Peter Priddy had already killed his mother?’ said Marvel.

‘It’s a theory,’ said Reynolds a little defensively. ‘You imagine taking care of someone like Yvonne Marsh for years. Stark staring mad. Wandering off. Doesn’t know who the fuck you are after forty years of marriage. You imagine the strain of that. Maybe it only takes a nod and a wink in the way of permission for you to feel that it’s OK to go right ahead and drown her in a stream.’

Marvel nodded. He could see the logic. ‘In the way that serial killers take many years to build up to their first murder. The first one is difficult, but after that it gets easier and easier, more and more casual.’

‘Same thing,’ agreed Reynolds. ‘Someone breaks the taboo.’

Marvel stared into the distance and nodded slowly. ‘The unthinkable becomes thinkable.’

The two men sat pondering in rare harmony.

‘I hope you’re wrong,’ said Marvel.

And, for once, Reynolds hoped he was too.

Seven Days

The ground was frozen and they couldn’t have dug a hole for Yvonne Marsh even if her body had not been retained as evidence, but the funeral went ahead anyway. ‘Interment to follow at a later date’ was what was written in biro under the order of service.

Jonas looked at it and was reminded of the note under his wiper, and he wished now that he’d kept it for the purposes of comparison with every bit of handwriting he came across. As the service got under way, he looked at the Reverend Chard with new eyes.

Alan Marsh sat in the front pew with his son. Danny had a black eye to go with his suit. Jonas blushed to see it.

‘I should apologize,’ he whispered to Lucy.

‘Not today,’ she whispered back. ‘Today is about his mother.’

Jonas nodded but felt uncomfortable. Marvel had hissed at him that he’d be lucky to keep his job, but all he had seen in Marvel’s eyes was relief that someone had stepped up to the mark and done something to end the stand-off.

He looked around and caught Marvel’s eye at the back of the church. No doubt he was there because of the chance that the killer might attend the funeral of his victim. Margaret Priddy had not yet had a funeral service, at the request of her family, but Alan Marsh had insisted on one.

‘She’s gone,’ he’d told the Reverend Chard. ‘She’s gone and I want to say a proper goodbye.’

So here they all were.