Spencer was in reception with Rita, listening to the conversation as Rita took a call from Frieda Lunn. It appeared Mr. Foxley’s housekeeper had not been paid for a month. Rita assured her that she would take it up with Mr. Myers, and just as she replaced the phone, Myers called out from the end of the corridor.

‘Detective, could I speak with you for a minute?’

Spencer headed down the corridor and Myers ushered him into his office.

‘Detective, I don’t know if you are aware, but Charles’s ex-wife has inherited all of his shares in the company. Quite honestly, if she was even to contemplate working here, I very much doubt that the other agents would stay. I, for one, would find it virtually impossible. My hopes are that she sells the shares, to be divided among us all. Emma Ransom has already had another top agent trying to poach her. Meanwhile, Charles’s clients are already moving elsewhere.’ He shook his head. ‘FFA, as we say in the business. Fickle Fucking Actors.’

‘How do you know the contents of Mr. Foxley’s will?’ Spencer asked.

‘I was his partner. He had said numerous times that he would change it after his divorce, but then they had this freaky relationship, so you never knew where you were with the two of them. He was often at their marital home, which she fought like a tigress to be awarded, lock, stock and barrel. And she was always on the phone to him, usually using Clara as an excuse.’

Myers’ desk phone rang and he snatched it up. He listened for a moment, scowling.

‘Rita, I am a very busy man and I don’t give a toss about whether or not Mrs. Lunn has been paid for her cleaning services. Tell her to send an invoice to his ex-wife.’ He slammed down the phone.

‘Unbelievable. As if, in the middle of this nightmare, I’ve got time to deal with Charles’s cleaner. At least we don’t have his bloody dogs running amok. I had to get rid of one of the wing-backed chairs they appropriated – it wasn’t just full of dog hairs, but fleas.’ He gave an odd chuckle. ‘He used to find it amusing, you know, when he had one of his FFAs in. He would sit them in that chair and they’d walk out covered in dog hairs. Now, added to the rest of my problems, bloody Daniel Bergman is insisting that he wants to move into Charles’s office. I mean, talk about shoving his feet into a dead man’s shoes.’

Spencer said, ‘Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Myers. I would also like to take this opportunity to take Mr. Foxley’s Rolodex from his desk.’

Myers frowned. ‘It has some important contact details I need.’