Jane was at her desk when DI Miller, wearing yet another of his blue and white shirts, was leaving with Spencer to go to Mandy Pilkington’s house in Clapham. She had agreed to be interviewed but had used her ill health as a reason for not being brought to the station.

As Spencer passed Jane, he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘I’m looking forward to this.’

Shortly after they left, DCI Tyler, wearing a dark coat over his suit, came out of his office and signaled to Jane that they should leave for the funeral. Jane was wearing a neat black suit with a white shirt. She carried a black raincoat over her arm.

On the way to the crematorium Tyler was quiet, staring through the window as he sat next to the driver.

‘We got a lot of stick at the press conference earlier,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve honestly never known anything like this.’

Jane was unsure what to say. It didn’t feel as if he was talking to her, but then he turned his head and asked if she had contacted Eunice Small.

‘I did try, sir, but there was no reply.’

‘That’ll be another waste of time . . . ’ He turned back to stare through the window.

There was a long pause before he spoke, and again, he seemed to be talking to himself.

‘Seven days and we still don’t have a solid motive or a suspect.’ He turned to look back at Jane. ‘Is it the ex-wife?’

Not waiting for an answer, he turned back again to stare through the window.

‘Did she hate him that much? He spent almost every weekend living with her in the house that she got in the divorce. It just doesn’t make sense. She doesn’t need money. Was it maybe because she couldn’t have him?’

‘I don’t know, sir. I think we have to uncover what made Charles Foxley feel compelled to be regularly beaten by a dominatrix, and have sex with obese women. We know his ex-wife was promiscuous and he was humiliated over and over again by her. Her mother told me that they could not live together, but they could not live apart. I think they may have had an obsessive love-hate relationship.’

‘Yes, yes . . . I read the reports. But this goes beyond a love-hate relationship, sergeant. Harry Bellamy warned us last week that it was something more.’

The conversation ended as they arrived at Putney Crematorium. One minicab was parked outside the building. There were no other cars.

Tyler and Jane walked towards the crematorium entrance.

‘Be typical if they gave us the wrong bloody time,’ he said.

When they reached the arches in front of the door, a cleric was standing holding a prayer book.

‘Charles Foxley’s service?’ Tyler asked, looking rather embarrassed.

‘Yes, it will take place in Chapel One at midday.’

Tyler glanced at his watch. It was 11:55 a.m.