“By Detective Superintendent Harris?”

“Again, I must confess I don’t remember the person’s name.”

“Take my word for it.”

“Very well. Look, I sense a little hostility in your tone. Can you please either tell me why you’re here or leave?”

“We’re here to ask you some questions relating to the Graham Marshall investigation.”

“Oh, yes. That poor boy whose skeleton was uncovered some days ago. Tragic. But I don’t see how that has anything to do with me.”

“We’re just tying up a few loose ends, that’s all.”

“And I’m a loose end. How fascinating!” His glaucous eyes gleamed with mockery.

Banks took the photo from his briefcase and slid it across the table to Mandeville, who looked at it without expression.

“Interesting,” he said. “But, again…”

“Do you recognize the boy?” Michelle asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Do you recognize the fireplace?”

Mandeville glanced toward his own Adam fireplace and smiled at her. “I’d be a liar if I said I don’t,” he said. “Though I hardly imagine it’s the only one of its kind in existence.”

“I think it’s unique enough for our purposes,” Michelle said.

“Photographs can be faked, you know.”

Michelle tapped the photo. “Are you saying this is a forgery?”

“Of course. Unless someone has been using my house for illicit purposes in my absence.”

“Let’s get back to 1965, when this photo was taken, in this room,” Michelle said. “You were quite famous for your parties, weren’t you?”

Mandeville shrugged. “I was young, wealthy. What else was I to do but share it around a bit? Maybe I was foolish, too.”

“Parties that catered to every taste, including drugs, prostitutes and underage sex partners, male and female.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“This boy was fourteen when that photo was taken.”

“And he was a friend of mine,” said Banks, catching Mandeville’s eye and holding his gaze.

“Then I’m sorry for your loss,” said Mandeville, “but I still don’t see what it has to do with me.”

“You had him killed,” said Michelle.

“I did what? I’d be careful, if I were you, young lady, going around making accusations like that.”

“Or what? You’ll have your chauffeur break into my flat again, or try to run me over?”

Mandeville raised his eyebrows. “I was actually going to warn you about the possibility of slander.”

“I did a bit of homework before I came out here,” Michelle said. “Checked into the background of your employees. Derek Janson, your chauffeur, served a prison sentence for burglary fifteen years ago. He came to be regarded as somewhat of an expert at picking locks. I’m sure he knows how to drive a van, too.”

“I know about Derek’s background,” Mandeville said. “It’s very difficult for ex-convicts to get employment. Surely you can’t fault me for doing my little bit for Derek’s rehabilitation? I happen to trust him completely.”

“I’m sure you do. When the investigation into Graham Marshall’s disappearance was reopened, after we found his remains and discovered that he had been murdered, you did everything in your power to put me off.”