Lazer walked down the room to the record player, turned it off, sat at the piano and started to play. Craig slammed the front door, grabbed Nick by the arm and jerked him round.

Nick pulled himself free with no difficulty. ‘Do that again and I’ll put you through the wall. Where’s Mrs Faulkner?’

‘Got a warrant?’

‘As it happens I don’t need one. Now where is she?’

‘I saw her going to her room about half an hour ago. I think she’d had enough.’

‘Go and dig her out. Tell her I want a word with her.’

Craig opened his mouth to give an angry reply, but obviously thought better of it. He moved away along the hall and Nick walked down to the piano.

Lazer grinned tiredly. ‘We’ve been here before, General.’

‘A long night, Chuck. A hell of a long night,’ Nick said. ‘How about a drink?’

‘I could certainly use one.’

Nick went behind the bar, found a couple of clean glasses and a bottle of Scotch and went back to the piano. He gave Lazer a generous measure, filled his own glass to the brim and took it down in one easy swallow.

‘Careful, General, that way it can get to be a habit,’ Lazer said.

As the warm glow spread throughout his entire body, Nick poured himself another, then leaned against the piano, the music reaching out to enfold him. It was five o’clock in the morning at the fag end of a long night and he was tired. Too tired to think straight and that wouldn’t do, because somewhere, just below the level of consciousness, something was nagging away at him, one piece of the jigsaw that was the key to this whole business and he was damned if he could think what it was.

Craig appeared at his elbow and bowed ironically. ‘She isn’t feeling too well. You’ll have to wait till tomorrow, copper.’

‘Tomorrow’s already here.’ Nick shook his head. ‘You want to get with it, Craig. You’re slipping.’

He walked down the room, disregarding Craig’s sudden cry and moved along the hall to the library. As he opened the door to go in, Craig caught up with him and grabbed at his shoulder. Nick sent him staggering back across the hall, slammed the door and locked it.

The fire in the grate had burned low, but the lamp was still lit on the desk. He moved across to the bedroom door and knocked. There was no reply and when he tried to open the door, he found it was locked.

He knocked again. ‘Bella, this is Nick Miller. I’ve got to speak to you.’

There was silence for a moment, then a soft foot-fall, the click of a key. When he opened the door, she was moving across to the fireplace.