Miller’s mouth tightened. ‘I would have thought, Tennison, that was obvious.’ He crooked a finger for her to join him at the incident board. Miller pointed to the first day of the investigation.

‘Sergeant Tennison, I want every date matched and every alibi reconfirmed.’

Jane’s heart sank. The amount of work Miller had just dropped in her lap would not only be time-consuming, but she would be desk-bound for a lengthy period.

Miller headed towards Tyler’s closed office door and, almost as an afterthought, turned back to those gathered in the incident room, catching DC Gary Dors putting two fingers up his nostrils.

Miller snapped, ‘You think this is funny? Don’t think for one second that I am finished with Justine Harris. If I had my way, she would’ve been put in the cells for what she did to me.’

He went into Tyler’s office, slamming the door behind him.

*

DCI Collins was wearing another ill-fitting suit. His sunburnt face had at least paled slightly but Spencer found it amusing that the outline of his sunglasses was still obvious around his eyes. They were in a gilt elevator in St James’s, heading up to the fourth floor of an elegant seventeenth-century building. There had been considerable modernization in the lobby but the impressive plaster panels and honeycomb ceiling indicated that, at one time, this vast building had been a palatial private home.

Exiting the lift on the fourth floor, they stepped into a thickly carpeted corridor lined with oil paintings. They headed towards a large open area. In the center was a modern half-circular desk, with a variety of telephones and an electric typewriter. Sitting behind it was a woman in her late forties who resembled Wallis Simpson, the mistress and subsequent wife of the Duke of Windsor. She was wearing a black fitted jacket, with a large white collar and white cuffs. Her black hair looked dyed, with wings of white either side.

DCI Collins approached her and introduced himself and Spencer, saying they had an appointment with Max Summers. She opened a large leather-bound diary, looked down the page and then gave a casual glance at a small gold wristwatch.

‘Please take a seat and I will tell him you are here.’

They sat on a long red couch, looking around at the opulent room complete with a huge chandelier. It was a further five minutes before the austere receptionist picked up one of the telephones, listened for a moment, then replaced it.

‘Mr. Summers will see you now.’ She swiveled in her desk chair towards two beautiful polished wooden doors, at least ten feet high.