“They’re on their way,” Bill interrupted, saving me the bother of having to think up a witty reply. “Inspector Jackson doesn’t sound like a happy man.” A muffled shout from under him indicated that Jackson wasn’t the only one.

It took a couple of hours to sort everything out. They’d made Bill stop sitting on Kevin, and he’d immediately burst into a loud tirade of complaint. Jackson had shut him up briskly and removed him in a police car to Bootle Street nick. By the time he’d taken statements from all three of us, he grudgingly admitted that the assault on me gave him enough to hold Kevin while he made further inquiries into his financial background. I could see the whole episode hadn’t improved his attitude to the private sector.

After he left, Richard found a couple of carefully hoarded bottles of Rolling Rock, his all-time favorite American beer. He and Bill toasted each other, boasting cheerfully about their rescue as small boys the world over will do. I poured myself a stiff vodka and said sweetly, “Don’t you think we should save the celebrations for when we’ve nailed the murderer?”

They stopped in mid-swig and stared blankly at me. “I thought that was what we’d just done?” Richard said. “You said Kevin had done it.”

“That’s what I said. But now I’m not so sure.”

Richard gave one of those sighs that seem to come from his socks. “I don’t get it,” he complained. “Two hours ago, you were accusing the guy of murder. Now you’re not so sure?”

Bill shook his head, a wry smile lurking in his beard. “OK, Kate, let’s have it.”

I explained my theory, and he got to his feet, muttering about no rest for the wicked. “Let’s go, then, Kate,” he said resignedly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Can I come too?” Richard asked plaintively.

“You’ll be bored out of your tree,” Bill told him. “But you’re welcome to come along if you want.”

“You can always make the coffee,” I added wickedly. I knew how to turn him off. And much as I love Richard, I didn’t want him kicking his heels in boredom while we worked. I mean, would you take a four-year-old to the office with you?

My strategy worked. Richard shrugged and said, “I think I’ll just stay home. I suppose I could earn myself a few bob putting out the story of Kevin’s arrest. I mean, even if you think he didn’t do it, he’s still down the nick, isn’t he?”

“Good thinking. Why should Neil Webster be the only one making a shilling out of Moira’s murder?” I teased.

He poked his tongue out at me and gave me a farewell hug before he disappeared into the gloom of the conservatory.