‘Nice work.’

‘See, boss? You don’t need to be here, just leave it all to me.’

‘Yeah, thanks. That trial – that’s the Kosmos Papadopoulos one, right?’

‘It is, and it’s not looking good for him.’

‘What a shame.’

In the past year there had been two very large drug network busts in Sussex, one from a fake classic car that had come into Newhaven Port packed with several million pounds’ worth of cocaine. The other had been an equally sophisticated operation, which involved drugs being dropped into the English Channel attached to floats marked by lobster pot buoys and collected by a fishing boat, concealing them at the bottom of its huge cargo of dead mackerel, sole and other fish.

This ring had been masterminded by Kosmos Papadopoulos, a nasty, violent Greek Cypriot known to the police for a long time, who always laundered his money through a string of small but legitimate cash businesses in Brighton and in several other seaside towns in the county. But, as fortunately happened with many successful villains, Papadopoulos had grown overconfident and let down his guard, trying to hire an undercover police officer to arrange a severe beating for a drug-dealing rival in a turf war. The case was high profile, making the local news most days.

There was a silence.

‘But, seriously,’ Branson said, ‘I just want you to know how sorry I am – and Siobhan, who sends her love. If you want to chat, any time, bell me.’

‘I will, thanks.’

‘Don’t worry about anything, it’s all in hand. OK?’

Suddenly, Grace’s voice stalled. He could barely utter his reply. ‘Thanks. Appreciate – it.’

Ending the call, he stood up and went out into the garden, accompanied by a solemn-looking Humphrey who had clearly picked up on their sadness. He walked over to the hen house. Unhooking the door, he entered, closing it behind him to keep out the dog.

As Cleo had said, Bruno’s two favourite hens, Fraulein Andrea and Fraulein Julia, lay motionless, side by side, their heads at unnatural angles.

He knelt and touched the birds. They were stiff and cold.

And so neatly laid out, juxtaposed against each other.

They hadn’t been killed by a fox, which would have ripped them to shreds or just bitten off their feet or heads. Nor could they have died from being egg-bound – not in this perfect symmetrical position.

They had been deliberately killed, almost certainly by having their necks wrung.

Again, he went back to that conversation with Bruno yesterday morning – which now seemed an aeon ago.

Did you know that the ancient Egyptians, when they died and were mummified, had their favourite pets killed and mummified, to go in the tomb with them?

Knowing how much the sight of the hens had distressed Cleo, he picked both of them up, took a spade from the garden shed, then, holding them aloft, out of reach of Humphrey who kept jumping up at them, carried them out through the garden gate, shutting it on the dog. He climbed part way up the hill, stopping when he reached a large gorse bush, and put the two hens down gently on the ground.