When she saw the photograph of the rowing team, leaning across the oars of their skiff, she patted it with her hand.

‘Charlie won so many awards, you know, but no matter what he did, it was never enough for Melody. I don’t think she ever kissed or held that child again.’

*

Mandy’s coffee table was now stacked with photo albums, and each album was filled with images of the girls working for her. Charles Foxley’s preference was for obese women, and they had nicknames like Big Betty, Fat Fanny and Heavy Helen, and they were the ones he requested for his weekly visits. Mandy was candid in describing exactly what took place during his sessions. He would be stripped down to his underpants and tied to a leather horse by his wrists, then whipped. It was all very professional, she assured them. They never drew blood, and the whip often left no mark. It was more the swishing sound that the clients liked. After the whipping, he would be taken to a waterbed, but would never have full sex with the women. He would ejaculate between their breasts, often while having his buttocks slapped.

‘Why do you think Foxley subjected himself to this treatment?’ Miller asked.

Mandy shrugged. ‘My clients tell me what they want. It is not my job to find out why. If a well-known aristocrat likes to wear nappies, drink milk from a large baby bottle, and becomes sexually excited when he poos in his nappy, that’s his business. My job is to make sure they are satisfied and that they pay the fee. And they’re not all what you would call perverts. I even have one poor soul who has been crippled since a young age after contracting meningitis. My driver collects him and returns him home. All part of the service.’

‘Very commendable, I’m sure,’ Miller said sourly. ‘So far, Miss Pilkington, you have refused to name any of your clients.’

‘Yes, dear, and I will continue to refuse. I will get legal representation, if necessary, to ensure my clients are protected, as I signed a non-disclosure agreement with each of them. You can get any High Court judge you like involved.’

Spencer couldn’t hide his smile. The more she spoke, the more he warmed to her. She certainly had no fear of DI Miller.

‘When was the last time you saw Mr. Foxley?’ Miller asked.