Tyler loosened his tie. ‘There’ll be a briefing later this afternoon, but I know people are worn out, so I’m thinking of only retaining a skeleton staff for Sunday, and everyone else can have the day off.’

There were muted cheers as he returned to his office.

Jane was just clearing her desk when Spencer called in. She told him that they may be given Sunday off, but that it was likely they would all be wanted for an early briefing on Monday morning.

‘Did you find anything I should add to the board?’ Jane asked.

‘Yeah, we need to investigate Max Summers, a film financier with his brother Ivor, who lives in New York.’

Jane jotted down the names in her notebook as Spencer continued.

‘Remember we interviewed Max’s daughter, Julia? She was the ditsy girl who had Foxley’s diary at her home.’

Jane tapped the pad with her pencil. ‘Interesting . . . Maybe her daddy wanted to look at something in it. You need to double-check that the guv doesn’t want you in, Spence.’

‘OK, will do.’

Jane replaced the receiver and crossed to the incident board, picking up the marker pen. She wrote the two financiers’ names and then drew an arrow from them to the young girl who had worked as a secretary for Charles Foxley.

Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As usual Jane woke at six a.m. She took a long bath and then called her parents, asking if they could have lunch. They were delighted.

On her way, Jane bought a large bouquet of flowers for her mother, to thank her for cleaning her flat and doing her laundry. When she got there, Jane managed to relax for the first time in a while; nobody discussed the murder and the Sunday newspapers were left unread. The Charles Foxley case was clearly no longer front-page news.

Jane was carrying a bowl of her mother’s terrific roast potatoes to the table, and as she placed it down, Mrs. Tennison pointed to Jane’s hand.

‘Where did you get that from?’

Jane flinched. ‘What?’

‘You have a nasty bruise by your thumb.’

By now, the bruise between her thumb and forefinger from firing a gun had become even more prominent.

‘It’s nothing. I caught it on the typewriter.’

‘How do you get a bruise like that from a typewriter?’ her mother asked.

‘Well, I was lifting the typewriter from one desk to another,’ Jane lied.

‘Oh, I see.’

By the time they had finished lunch and Jane had asked all the necessary questions about her sister and the grandchildren, the obligatory queries about her private life began, but since she didn’t really have one, for once they were easy to deal with.