‘Three horses are now known to have died in the fire,’ said the reporter over pictures of the collapsed roof, ‘and the police are very worried about the racehorse trainer Gary Bremner, who hasn’t been seen since the early hours of the morning when he was spotted entering the burning building in a failed attempt to save the horses. A full police investigation of the fire, together with the search for human remains, will begin as soon as the fire brigade confirm that it is safe.’

What should I do?

Did I contact the North Yorks Police to tell them that Gary Bremner had called me last night, several hours prior to the fire, and told me that someone had threatened to kill his horses?

But, according to Gary, they would already know that. He told me he’d spoken to them about it but they had accused him of making it all up. I wondered what they would be thinking now.

Perhaps I would wait and see what the fire investigation discovered. However, whether it turned out to be an accident or arson, murder or manslaughter, I resolved that I would leave the investigation of it solely to the police. They wouldn’t welcome a private individual sticking his nose in, even though I had solved a few cases in the past after the boys in blue had tried and failed dismally.

I took a cup of coffee and a slice of buttered toast through to my office. Investigating wrongdoing might be my passion, and it had been my sole wage-earner in the past, but nowadays it was my dealings on the world’s financial markets that paid the ever-increasing gas bills. In spite of it being a Saturday, there were things I needed to do in the run-up to the end of the tax year on 5 April.

Why was it, I wondered, that the UK tax year was so out of step with the calendar one?

I sat at my desk and sent an email authorising my stockbroker to sell some of my portfolio, utilizing my annual capital gains tax allowance, and to use the funds to invest my maximum annual permitted amount in an ISA, a tax-free individual savings account. If I left either until after the tax year ended, it would be too late.

But it took me ages. I wasn’t paying proper attention, and I had to read carefully through the instruction twice, correcting several errors before I sent it.

My mind kept wandering to the two big topics in my head—Gary Bremner and Marina, especially Marina. They circled in my brain, like a pair of hungry hyenas stalking their prey, attacking my concentration whenever I let down my guard, so much so that I finally abandoned any notion of doing any further useful work. I was far too likely to make a mistake, and mistakes in financial dealings were always expensive.

I went back to the kitchen feeling lonely and miserable.