Clarke and Esson had almost reached the front door when a buzzer sounded. Stephanie Pelham checked the screen on the wall. It showed a man standing at the gates to the driveway. She pushed the intercom button.

‘James, what the hell do you want?’

‘I heard about Cheryl. Just wanted to know if I can help.’

‘You can help, as a matter of fact – sign the bloody divorce papers and get this over and done with. Now sod off back to wherever you crawled out of.’ She lifted her finger from the intercom button and turned towards the two detectives. ‘If I open the gates for you, he’ll take it as an invitation.’

‘We’ll soon disabuse him,’ Clarke assured her, before turning to Esson. ‘You get in the car, I’ll walk to the gates.’ Esson nodded her understanding.

Stephanie Pelham unlocked the door. Clarke nodded a goodbye and strode down the driveway, Esson catching her up just as the gates were beginning to open. James Pelham was sitting in a white saloon. He got out again at the sight of Clarke. She had her warrant card open in front of her.

‘You’re not wanted here, Mr Pelham,’ she stated.

‘It’s my bloody home!’

‘It was once.’

He looked exasperated and dragged his fingers through his hair. ‘Are they okay, though, Steph and Cheryl?’

‘They’re fine.’

‘She won’t talk to me on the phone, won’t meet me for a drink … I’m just trying to be reasonable here.’

‘And the reasonable thing to do right now is leave.’

Esson had brought the car roadside, but had stopped in front of the gates, blocking any attempted entry. Clarke watched the gates start to swing slowly closed.

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘how well do you know Francis Haggard?’

Pelham thought for a moment. ‘The girls would go off together, but our services weren’t usually required. I probably met him once a month, maybe less.’

‘Get along okay?’

He met her gaze. ‘Not particularly. Nothing really in common.’

‘Ever see signs of a temper?’ Clarke watched Pelham shake his head. ‘No hints that he was mistreating Cheryl?’

‘Not until recently – and by then Steph and I had parted company.’

Clarke saw that Esson was drumming her fingers against the steering wheel, wondering what she was missing. ‘Thank you for your help. Don’t let us detain you.’ She headed to the car and got in.

‘He’s older than he looks in the papers,’ Esson commented. ‘The phrase “washed-up” springs to mind.’

‘It’s a shame, isn’t it?’ Clarke said, fastening her seat belt.

‘I’m practically in tears here. Back to the office?’

‘Actually, I’ve got another destination in mind, Christine, I’m just not sure you’re going to like it …’

Malcolm Fox was waiting on the forecourt when Alan Fleck got back from road-testing a BMW. As he locked the car, he gave Fox’s Mercedes a good look.