‘And the children, how many?’ Janet said.
‘Two, Karen and Barry. Both flown the nest – though they’ve not gone far.’
‘And to your knowledge neither of them has resumed contact with your husband?’
‘No, they’d have said. It’s not like I’d forbidden it or anything. They…’ she paused, ‘… they were quite bitter about it, and they couldn’t understand why he chose drink over them.’
That’s how it works, Rachel thought, an image of her dad swaying down the street and Rachel, hating him and embarrassed, darting into an alley so he’d not see her.
‘Could you tell us who his dentist was when living in Bury?’ said Janet.
She nodded. ‘Henry Sharples. On Fortins Rd.’
‘The dental records will help establish beyond any doubt that this person is Richard,’ Janet explained.
‘Poor man,’ she said, shaking her head slowly.
‘Mrs Kavanagh, do you have a photograph of your husband?’
‘Somewhere,’ she said, ‘in the basement.’
‘Please could you have a look?’ said Janet.
‘It’ll be years old.’
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
She left them and Rachel heard the sounds of the door to the basement opening, the snick of a light switch and footsteps going downstairs.
They didn’t talk while she was out of the room. Rachel checked her messages and Janet wrote in her notebook. Outside seagulls shrieked. Rachel thought maybe her family had holidayed in Rhyl, back when holidays were possible. They’d always stayed in caravans, not B &Bs.
Mrs Kavanagh came back. Her hand shook as she handed two photographs to Janet. ‘He always had his hair long,’ she said, a catch in her voice. ‘He was a mess when he got into drinking but he was harmless. Who on earth would do that?’ She froze. ‘He was shot first?’
‘Yes,’ Janet said. ‘There’s been a post-mortem, it’s standard with any sudden or suspicious death.’ Her voice was level, quiet, slow, reassuring. ‘And from that we could tell the shots were fired before the fire was started. It would have been quick,’ she said.
Mrs Kavanagh nodded, her lip trembling. ‘Thank you.’
‘Can you write down contact details for your son and daughter – we’ll need to talk to them as well,’ Janet said.
‘Yes, of course.’
Mrs Kavanagh reached out for a small address book on the side table and copied out the details. She handed the note to Janet.
‘And are there any relatives on your husband’s side who might have kept in contact with him?’ Janet asked.
Judith Kavanagh shook her head. ‘His parents are dead. He had a sister, she emigrated, met a South African, a Methodist preacher. As you can imagine, Richard’s drinking went down like a lead balloon. They didn’t even exchange Christmas cards once the parents had died. What will happen now?’