‘How was your day, yesterday?’ Branson asked, his voice sympathetic. ‘And how’s Cleo taking it all?’

‘She’s pretty cut up.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know – I never thought she had much fondness for Bruno, but clearly she cared for him a lot more than I realized. But we had an OK day, thanks. Noah tried to make scones, which basically meant covering most of the kitchen – and Humphrey – in flour. He’s turning into a little rascal, nicking the cheese when Kaitlynn wasn’t looking.’

Branson grinned.

‘Then Jack came over and we did a Sunday roast. Good to have a bit of normality. But I haven’t really slept.’

The receptionist replaced her handset and looked at the detectives. ‘Ms Riddle has a fifteen-minute window before her next client.’ She pointed over to her right, to a lift. ‘If you go to the fourth floor, her assistant will meet you.’

They entered and rode the irritatingly slow lift upwards. Finally, the doors jerked open to reveal a neatly dressed, middle-aged woman with a wavy fringe shaping her face standing on a small, sterile-feeling landing. She greeted them with an uncertain smile. ‘Follow me, please, gentlemen,’ she said.

They walked along a corridor, past a number of closed doors. She rapped on the last one, then opened it and ushered the detectives through. Grace led, followed by Branson, into a small, tidy office, with one wall lined with bookshelves filled with legal tomes, and a window overlooking the library.

A woman with wild grey hair, wearing a blue two-piece over a white blouse secured at the neck with a looped, bootlace-thin black bow, gave them a quizzical look. On her desk were several stacks of documents bound with ribbons, as well as a silver photograph frame showing two young men, seemingly twins, dressed in mortar boards and graduation gowns, and another of two Golden Doodles. There were more bound stacks of documents arranged on the floor next to the desk. On another wall Grace clocked a practising certificate and a large framed photograph of a women’s hockey team.

She stood up. ‘Gentlemen, good morning.’

Grace and Branson showed her their warrant cards. ‘Jill Riddle?’ Grace checked.

‘Yes, what is this about?’

‘I’m Detective Superintendent Grace from Surrey and Sussex Major Crime Team and this is my colleague Detective Inspector Branson. We appreciate your seeing us at such short notice,’ he said. ‘We’re investigating the disappearance, under suspicious circumstances, of Mrs Eden Paternoster, whom we believe is a client of yours.’

She nodded. ‘I’ve been reading about this in the Argus.’ She indicated the two chairs in front of her desk. ‘Please sit. Can I offer you any tea or coffee?’

‘We’re fine, thank you, and we know you’ve only got a few minutes, so we’ll keep it brief. We believe Mrs Paternoster may have been murdered and her husband, Niall, is currently our prime suspect. Our investigating team have located a will on a computer hard drive which appears to have been drafted by you. I have a printed copy of it here.’