George Henson remained nonchalant as he was offered refreshments in the second interview room, replying pleasantly that he would love a coffee with milk and sugar. DI Miller and Spencer sat at the desk in front of him. Miller repeated his caution and Henson laughed.

‘My, my. This really is serious, isn’t it?’

Miller opened a pristine new notebook and then set beside it his own personal one. Spencer sat with his pencil poised ready to take notes.

‘Could you tell us where you were on the night of Charles Foxley’s murder?’ Miller began.

Henson gave an exasperated shrug. ‘I have been asked this numerous times, and I have clearly stated that on that Monday evening I was at my cottage in Kent, entertaining three friends at dinner. I have given their names, and I believe they have been questioned. They will explain that I was there all evening and did not leave my cottage until late the next afternoon, when I received a distressed call from Justine after she had seen her ex-husband’s body. How many more times do you need me to explain this?’

Miller took the cap off his fountain pen. ‘We need, Mr. Henson, to verify those alibis. After questioning your three friends, they all explained that a lot of alcohol was consumed that evening. Although you were the host, they could not be one hundred percent sure that you were indeed with them the entire evening.’

Henson threw his hands up. ‘Oh, bollocks to that! I absolutely admit that I was two sheets to the wind, but as you could easily have worked out for yourselves, I do not own a car and the last train, I believe, leaves for Waterloo at 10:30 p.m., so how do you think I could have got to Charles Foxley’s flat? If I had hired a taxi the fare would have been astronomical, and you detectives would very easily discover the identity of the taxicab if I had used one.’

Miller pursed his lips. ‘I now want to ask you about your relationship with Justine Harris. How long have you known her?’

‘For God’s sake! I don’t know, maybe twenty-five years, maybe more . . . ’

‘And you frequently stay at her property in Barnes?’

‘Yes, I have told you that and have explained that I work from there. I rent a bedroom and a small office. It’s just a peppercorn rent – Justine is a very generous soul and is aware of the costs of me commuting back and forth to the West End.’

‘So you rent a couple of rooms at Ms. Harris’s home and have done for many years?’

Henson waved his hand in the air. ‘Dear God. I have not always rented there, nor have I always worked there, but after her divorce she kindly asked me to stay.’

‘So you were very familiar with her husband, Charles Foxley?’