Trudy nodded. This made sense to her. She was beginning to get a feel for their car crash victim now. A young, handsome man, who appealed to wealthy widows, was probably the same kind of man who found it easier to sell very flashy and expensive sports cars to middle-aged men who, perhaps, should have known better.

‘I can see, from a business perspective, that that would make sense,’ Trudy said, mindful that she was talking to an accountant. ‘Two partners, each specialising in a different customer base, would optimise their sales considerably.’

Now Philip Prescott actually did manage to smile, clearly finding this young police officer very intelligent and accommodating indeed.

‘To be clear then, both men took exactly the same amount of money in salary from the company each month?’ she asked cautiously.

At this, Philip Prescott’s finger-bumping stopped abruptly.

She had become so used to it, that Trudy found its cessation almost shocking.

‘Ah. Now,’ Mr Prescott said, sitting up even more rigidly in his chair. ‘That’s what the Regal Car books showed. That is, the books that were shown to me when Mr Parker brought them over.’

Jackpot! Trudy felt herself tensing and deliberately made herself relax again. She must not lose her witness’s confidence at this point. ‘And when Mr Thorpe brought them over?’ she asked, very casually.

Philip Prescott finally separated his hands, laid them flat on the top of the desk and leaned back slightly in his chair. ‘Yes. The thing is, Mr Thorpe brought the entire set of books to me last November – that is, all the years of their trading, up until a month before the latest quarter ended. He asked me to audit them thoroughly. I have to say that I got the impression – nothing but an impression mind you,’ he stressed primly, ‘that Mr Thorpe had done so without the knowledge of his partner.’

‘And what did …’ Trudy caught herself just in time from asking a direct question. Quickly, she corrected herself. ‘And did the books shown to you at that time indicate that Mr Thorpe had always received his equal share of the profits every quarter?’

The accountant gave her a congratulatory smile. Trudy had a mental picture of him patting her on the head, rather like a dog owner pleased with the antics of his favourite Labrador.

‘No, Constable, they did not,’ Mr Philip Prescott said, with immense satisfaction.

*

‘So our dead man was cooking the books,’ Clement said, the moment they were back outside on the pavement.

It had become almost dark during their time in the office, and the Christmas lights, yet to be taken down, cast a cheerful glow over the shops. Trudy shivered at the sudden drop in temperature from warm office to freezing outdoors.