Within seconds of Mathew entering the kitchen, he was followed by Sally and a handsome young black man. He was tall and muscular with wide, body-builder’s shoulders. ‘This is Nathaniel Jones,’ George said. ‘He’s Mathew’s tutor-cum-carer-cum-minder-cum-anything else he might need. This is DS Jack Warr from the Met.’

Nathaniel gave Jack a backwards nod, then focussed on calming Mathew down. He put his hands firmly on Mathew’s shoulders and squeezed hard, just as Mathew had done to George. ‘Come on, Matty. Shower.’ Nathaniel glanced at Jack. ‘I’ll give you a shout when we’re done. Sorry it’s taking longer than usual.’

In the study, Oaks was in his paper suit with his mask tucked under his chin. He stood in the centre of the room, on a twelve-inch-square metal plate so as not to make footprints in the thick carpet. Four CSIs meticulously worked their way from the study door to the open safe. As the sun shone in through the tall sash windows, it glistened off a small patch of something shiny at the top of George’s tan-coloured leather office chair. The shiny stain was around the area where a person’s head might touch when leaning back, or where you might grasp the chair if walking behind it.

‘What’s that?’ Oaks said to the room in general. The CSI nearest to him followed his pointing finger to the chair. They then dipped their head and moved from side to side until the sun caught the shiny patch, and they were able to see what Oaks was seeing. They agreed that the substance looked oily, which seemed out of place in such an immaculate study. ‘Take a sample, please,’ Oaks requested.

The CSI collecting the sample from the office chair tugged an imaginary forelock, saying, ‘Yes, Willy. Right away, Willy.’

Oaks blushed, smiled and turned towards the door where Jack was now looking in at him from the hallway. Oaks moved across the metal plates towards Jack and dipped under the police tape. ‘That’s my Auntie Helen. Well, she’s my cousin really, but ’cos she’s got twenty years on me, I’ve always called her Auntie.’

Jack laughed. ‘Everyone knows everyone. I get it. You’re doing fine, Oaks. Listen, when you get back to the station, I need you to do something for me. Get a warrant to check George Barrowman’s accounts. You’re looking for a jewellery purchase – a string of pearls.’

Oaks shuffled uncomfortably, saying that he’d need to ask DI Gifford to authorise the request, and he was fairly sure that he wouldn’t do it.

‘No worries,’ Jack said. ‘I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I’ll sort it myself.’