Lindsay filed the incongruous detail away for further consideration, marking it with an asterisk in her notes. “So, being a good neighbor, you went in?”

“I knocked on the door,” Knight corrected her. “I called out, but there was no reply. I was starting to feel a little concerned.”

“And so you went in?” Lindsay prodded.

He nodded, a prurient gleam in his eye. “I knew something was wrong as soon as I got inside. The place smelled like a brewery crossed with a butcher’s shop. I could see there was nothing amiss in the lounge, but when I got to the kitchen doorway . . . Well, I don’t have to tell you what it was like,” he said, an obviously spurious delicacy giving him pause.

“Just for the record?” Lindsay asked, pen poised.

“Blood everywhere. On the floor, on the walls, all over the worktops. And glass. There was broken glass scattered around. And in the middle of it all, Miss Varnavides. It was obvious she was dead. No one could lose that much blood and still be alive.”

There was no compassion in his voice, Lindsay thought bitterly, only the self-satisfied confidence of a man who thinks he knows what he’s talking about. “Indeed,” she said, her voice dry and emotionless. “Did you actually go across the threshold into the kitchen?”

“Of course not. These days everybody knows you mustn’t interfere with the scene of a crime and I could see that something terrible had happened. I assumed some intruder had hit her with a broken bottle. That was the only explanation I could come up with, seeing all the blood and the glass. Your people thought it was an accident. But it turns out I was right after all.” He smirked.

“Mmm,” Lindsay said noncommittally. “So you came upstairs and called the police?”

“Well, yes. I didn’t want to use the phone down there in case the last number Miss Varnavides had called was a clue.”

“Not very likely if she’d been killed by an intruder,” Lindsay said quietly as she made a note.

“She might have been trying to call the police,” he said defensively. “She might have panicked and rung 911 instead of 999, being American.”

It was, she supposed, a reasonable point. “And then our lads arrived,” she said.

Knight gave her a curious look. “Sorry?”

“And then our lads arrived. The police. After your 999 call. The boys in blue.”

“That’s right,” he said slowly. “Very quick off the mark, your detective inspector.”

Lindsay smiled. “He doesn’t hang around.”

Knight got to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m being very inhospitable here. I just realized how thirsty I am. You must be too, in this heat. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Mineral water?”

Lindsay shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks. I’ll need to be on my way soon. I’ve just got a couple more questions about visitors to the flat . . .”

“I’ll be right back, if you’ll just bear with me a moment.” He cleared his throat noisily. “Desperate for a cup of tea. Terrible frog in my throat.” Knight smiled ingratiatingly as he sidled out of the room, closing the door behind him.