They were in luck, on both counts, and Clement even managed to leave the car where it didn’t obstruct too much of the High Street.

The shop assistant in the underwear section was highly amused by the distinctive gentleman’s obvious unease as the nice police lady and herself talked about ladies’ lingerie. By tacit consent, they both chose to spare his blushes by ignoring him. Within moments they were deep in discussion.

‘Oh, you do remember the lady, and the set she bought?’ Trudy was able to get down to business very quickly.

Again they were in luck, for it turned out that not only had the shop assistant recognised the famous local artist immediately she’d walked in, but she’d also been the one to handle the sale of the items in question to the other customer as well.

‘Oh yes indeed, er, madam,’ the shop assistant said, for a moment wondering if she should more properly address Trudy as ‘Constable’. She was clearly not a customer, and therefore a sale was out of the question, but habit won over the day. ‘It was just as you described it – a peignoir and negligee set in apricot silk with ecru lace. Very nice, but not quite our top, top range you understand.’ In other words, affordable, Trudy surmised.

‘And the woman who bought it, can you describe her?’ Trudy asked eagerly.

‘Yes madam, I believe so. She was wearing a nice two-piece in powder blue, that almost looked as if it was a genuine Balmain. Let’s see, she was several inches shorter than madam, and her hair was almost exactly your shade, but cut short. She had dark-brown eyes, just like madam too, and I should have said she was in her late twenties. Possibly very early thirties.’

Trudy, who couldn’t remember anybody ever calling her ‘madam’ nodded happily. This matched, more or less exactly, the description they’d got from Katherine Morton before leaving her to her cigarettes and whisky.

‘Can you remember how she paid?’ Trudy asked next. But here, it seemed, her run of good luck had run out.

‘Madam paid by cash,’ the assistant said firmly.

‘Oh. I don’t suppose she took advantage of your delivery service?’ Trudy asked, deflated.

‘I believe she may have, madam. Give me one moment to check the register,’ the shop assistant said, reaching down behind the glass-topped counter (displaying the latest French cami-knickers, from which Clement kept his gaze firmly averted) and withdrew a large red flock velvet-covered account’s journal.

She ran a bony, perfectly manicured finger down the lists on first one page, then the next. ‘Let me see, this would be December the 30th … Ah yes! I thought she had. The purchases were sent to the Raven’s Rest later that day.’

‘The what?’ Trudy asked, startled.

‘I do believe it is a rather nice bed and breakfast in Summertown, madam,’ the assistant proffered helpfully.