It was after eleven when I drew up outside the electronic gates. Half a dozen cars were parked along the verge, and I recognized a couple of national newspaper reporters. The news of Moira’s death had broken too late for that morning’s editions, but they were determined to make up for lost time. As I pulled up to speak to the police constable, who looked cold and miserable in the thin drizzle of rain, car doors suddenly opened and the pack descended. Luckily, Jett had had the sense to tell the police I should be admitted. He’d also remembered to leave me the security code for the gate in one of his messages. I was halfway through the gates before the first journalist reached me. I put my foot down and left him shaking off the spray from my tires.

At the house, another freezing copper let me in. There was no one in sight, but the constable on duty at the door of the rehearsal room grudgingly told me that Jett was in the kitchen. I found him there alone, slumped at an old pine farmhouse table, a mug of tea sitting in front of him. He barely glanced at me when I crossed the room to the kettle. I put it on to boil and picked up his mug. Nothing like making yourself at home. His untouched tea was stone cold, so I made us both fresh.

“You shouldn’t have gone,” he greeted me. “I wanted you here.”

“I didn’t have any choice,” I explained patiently, like I would to Davy, Richard’s five-year-old. “The cops bounced me as soon as they found out who I was.”

Jett lifted his mug to his lips, but lowered it untasted. His skin had taken on a strange dullness, the color of slate. His eyes were bloodshot, but not puffy with tears. “You liked her, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Moira? I hardly knew her, but yes, I liked what I saw of her. She had courage, and a sense of humor,” I replied.

He nodded, as if I’d confirmed something. “That’s why I want you to find out who killed her. Somebody in this house, somebody I trusted, took her life away. You’re going to find out who.”

I felt like I’d stumbled on to the set of an episode of Murder, She Wrote. I took a deep breath and tried to bring the conversation down to earth. “Don’t you think you should leave this to the police? They’ve got the manpower and the facilities to investigate murder, Jett. I haven’t.”