As he showed them the large, well-equipped kitchen, Gregory was polite, verging on deferential. In the basement there was a dungeon-type room, as well as a ‘nursery’ room with a giant baby’s cot, rag dolls and enormous plastic bottles with rubber teats. A third room had an array of whips, rubber matting and an old leather pommel horse, which looked as if it had come from a school gymnasium. The upstairs bedrooms were fitted out for various fetish and sex games, and in the bathroom was a huge Jacuzzi, which Miller muttered must be illegal.

The wardrobe on the landing contained a selection of rubber suits. Gregory pointed out that each one would have cost at least £200. In the wardrobe drawers, instead of underwear and ties, there was a selection of handcuffs. Some were lined with fur, some with velvet, but none of them matched the set of handcuffs found on their victim. Miller made a few notes and occasionally muttered into his tape recorder, before they headed back downstairs into the hall.

As a man came out of the kitchen, shutting the door behind him, they could hear the low growling of a large dog.

‘You are?’ Miller asked.

‘Ahmed Farook, sir. I’m Miss Pilkington’s chauffeur and security guard.’

‘I believe you know Mr. Foxley’s dog walker.’

Farook nodded. ‘Eric Newman? Yes, sir, I know him. Not well, but he did a good turn for me when I needed someone to walk Miss Pilkington’s dog, Bruno.’

‘Have you ever walked Mr. Foxley’s dogs?’

‘No, sir, I just walk Bruno. To be honest, I don’t like little dogs.’

‘Did you know Mr. Foxley?’

‘No, sir.’

‘So when clients come into the house, you don’t interact with them?’

‘No, sir. Madam would not approve. I just look after her car, I do her shopping, tidy around the garden and clean up when necessary. I do my job and don’t ask questions.’

‘But you do collect one of her clients, don’t you, then take him home?’

‘Yes, sir, but only him. He is disabled and I have to carry him from the car upstairs. I then wait and return him to his care home.’

Miller made a note. ‘Are you married?’

Spencer saw Farook now had a sheen of sweat on his upper lip and forehead. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Does your wife know what kind of a job you do?’

‘My wife knows I work as a driver and I do security. I never discuss what madam does.’

Miller paused. ‘Could you tell us exactly what you were doing on the night of Mr. Foxley’s murder?’

Spencer stood patiently to one side. They had asked Mandy Pilkington the exact same question. She had clearly stated that Farook had been in her presence that afternoon and that he had collected one of her clients, who was a disabled young man.