Hobbes had seen several dead bodies in his time as a police officer, but to have the process of decomposition turned into art was a step too far for him. At the same time he couldn’t help being fascinated.

‘Are you quailing, Inspector?’

‘Not at all. Carry on.’

‘The sixth drawing shows the abdomen caving in, and the exposure of various internal organs. We can imagine the many worms working at her flesh. Image number seven depicts animals scavenging at the corpse – a dog, a fox, a crow. They are treating the human body as a meal, nothing more. Decomposition is now well and truly advanced.’

They had almost reached the end of the series.

‘At last the flesh has rotted clean away, leaving only a bare skeleton. And here, in the final image, we see only a few small bones remaining, and a cracked skull. The rest is dust, scattered on the wind.’

Hobbes stepped back to take in the series as a whole. ‘So let me guess, these are the nine other paintings you took from Bridlemere.’

Kepple nodded. ‘As I mentioned, the Max Ernst I sold on for a tidy sum. But this exquisite poem of decomposition, I could not bring myself to part with it.’

‘And these were actually on view in the house?’

‘They were, all nine of them. Not hidden in the attic or the cellar. But proudly displayed in Leonard’s study. Any of the children would have seen them, every day of their lives, I imagine. My mother included.’

Hobbes turned to him. ‘That shows a …’

‘Yes, Inspector?’

‘I’d call it cruel. But that isn’t the right word.’

‘No, it isn’t. In a certain way it might almost appear enlightened. In our current practice, we tend to hide the darker aspects of life from our children. But at least now you will have a clearer picture of what life must have been like at Bridlemere, when Rosamund, Nicholas and Camilla were young.’

‘Yes. Thank you for this.’

Hobbes was in a contemplative mood. The images had acted upon him as they were designed to, as a memento mori. He shivered slightly. Kepple picked up on his mood, saying, ‘In other examples of kusozu, the final image depicts a memorial for the dead person, to mark the grave.’ He allowed himself a grim little smile. ‘I like to come up here, once a month, say, entirely alone, and think on the nature of life, and of my place in the world. For soon, soon it will all be gone.’ He paused, then said, in a low voice: ‘Rest in peace, Uncle Nick. And Granddaddy. May you both have a safe journey.’

Hobbes felt he was intruding on a private ritual.

They were standing close together, and to move away now would seem rude.

For the first time he noticed that a rather strong odour rose from David Kepple’s body. It was unidentifiable.

Kepple was apparently aware of this. He stepped to the centre of the room.