“I don’t know any more than that myself,” I said. “I called in to see Jett, and he went to fetch Moira. He discovered the body, and we called the police. They’re waiting downstairs. You’d better get down there now. Everyone’s in the blue drawing room.” I know I’m not going to win any points from bereavement counselors for my attitude, but as far as I was concerned, Tamar lost all rights to my sympathy with that smile.

I moved towards the door. “Wait,” she called. I turned back. “Do you know who did it?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Not up to me, Tamar. It’s the police who work that sort of thing out. And they want to see you now,” I added, twisting the knife as I closed the door behind me.

I didn’t hang around to see if she was following me. I tripped back down the curving stairs, half-expecting a Busby Berkeley chorus to break into song. But all I could hear was the police radio chatter. As I reached the hall, the intercom sounded again. This time, the constable on the door dealt with it so I made my way to the cellar door at the end of a short side-passage. I opened the door which led to a tiny vestibule with a flight of steps. I descended and found myself facing a heavy steel door. Above it was a red light. I know what happens in computer games if you ignore warnings like that, but I thought the chances of being zapped by an android were pretty remote, so I opened the door. Just shows how wrong you can be.

I was in a large recording studio, walls and ceiling covered in acoustic tiling. Keyboards, drum machines and mikes filled most of the available space. At the far end of the room there was a wall of glass. Behind it, a man sat hunched over a series of control consoles, a cigarette hanging out of one corner of his mouth. I could actually feel in my chest and stomach the throbbing bass line that emerged from tall speakers. I walked down the studio and waved to catch his attention. Abruptly the music stopped and a deafening voice yelled over the intercom, “Get the fuck out of here! You blind, or what?”

I didn’t know if he could hear me, but I spoke anyway. “I’m sorry

“Look, sweetheart, it might have escaped your obviously limited intelligence, but I’m working. I don’t stop on the say-so of anybody’s bimbo, so just fuck off and find someone else to bug,” he snarled back at me, stubbing out his cigarette and immediately lighting another.