“What I can’t understand is why the documents are still here if Laura killed him to avoid exposure,” Sophie said as she booted up Tom Jack’s PC. “I’d have expected her to get down here faster than a speeding bullock before someone stumbled on them and put two and two together.”

Lindsay frowned, instantly comprehending the hole Sophie’s throwaway remark had blown in her theory. “Hmm,” she said. “Good point. Maybe she was intending to, but hasn’t been able to get away. Or maybe she doesn’t know where the evidence is. I mean, nobody in their right mind would just leave it lying around in a drawer, would they?”

“Or maybe she didn’t know yet she had a motive for killing him,” Sophie added with a cheeky grin.

Lindsay smiled back. “I hear what you’re saying,” she sighed. “Okay, I’ll take the blinkers off. Maybe it’s pure coincidence that Tom has something on Laura. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with his murder.”

“And maybe you should wander off and find a photocopier so you can copy the evidence and put it back where you found it. What you absolutely don’t need right now is some officious copper deciding to hit you with a charge of interfering with the evidence,” Sophie said.

“You mean, would I kindly sod off and leave you in peace with your toy? Okay, will do.” Lindsay kissed the top of Sophie’s head and headed off in search of a photocopier. It was almost an hour later when she returned, to find Sophie leaning back in Tom Jack’s chair, feet on the desk, a sheaf of printout on her lap.

Lindsay dumped her stacks of papers on the desk and threw her arms round Sophie. “Don’t tell me! You’ve cracked the case! It was the butler!”

Sophie kissed her mouth, damming the flow of Lindsay’s excited conversation. Lindsay closed her eyes and moaned softly, before she pulled away. “Don’t,” she groaned. “Don’t start what we can’t finish. Apart from anything else, it’s probably a disciplinary offense to bonk in the general secretary’s office.” She pulled away, shook her head like a retriever emerging from a pond, and said, “So what’s the print-out?”

“I found the audited files of expense payments for the last nine years. Alongside the official files, Tom Jack had worked out which expenses were phoney. It looks as if Laura was creaming off an average of £200 a week. Sweetheart, would anyone kill to avoid being exposed for defrauding ten grand a year?”

Lindsay’s jaw jutted stubbornly. “There’s got to be more to it than that. Is that all you found?”