‘Brayfield? God no, pet. I’d rather have home-schooled him than sent him there. Terrible place, full of all the wrong sort. And it’s even worse now than it was when Benjamin was a lad.’

She gestured towards an armchair at the end of the lounge and asked me to sit down. I liked her, liked the fact that she had listened to me, let me into her house, given me the benefit of the doubt when most people would have slammed the door in my face. She seemed genuine, and the worry on her face was clear to see.

‘My name’s Ruth, by the way.’

‘Thanks for letting me in.’ I sank back into the deep leather armchair. ‘Can’t believe that Ben’s been out of touch for this long, you must be worried sick.’

‘I’ve barely slept. A few hours a night.’

‘When did you last hear from him?’

‘He was never the best at staying in touch, to be honest. Normally every other weekend, sometimes every third weekend depending on what he had going on at work. He was so busy with his business, he wasn’t in touch the weekend just gone.’

‘I think he came up here from London last night,’ I added. ‘I thought he might have dropped in to see you.’

‘Benjamin’s not been to visit me since the summer,’ she said slowly.

My mobile rang.

The display showed a mobile number that the phone didn’t recognise. Probably junk. I rejected the call.

‘Sorry about that.’

‘Tell me more about the . . . woman they say he’s involved with,’ she said. ‘A friend’s wife, the policeman told me?’

‘Don’t really know her that well,’ I lied. ‘Apparently they’d been having a fling for a few months but she wanted to break it off.’

‘Probably realised she couldn’t get her hands on his money. Trollops like that are always after something.’

I felt myself stiffen involuntarily. ‘I’m not sure that’s quite how it happened.’

‘Really?’ she said slowly, her tone changing. ‘So how do you think it happened?’

‘From what I heard, it was more of a mutual –’

A flickering in the glass-framed pictures on the mantelpiece caught my eye. Pulses of reflected light.

Flashing lights.

Flashing blue lights.

There was a police patrol car outside the house, blue lights revolving. As I watched, both doors flew open and a pair of uniformed officers jumped out.

And now Ruth Delaney was on her feet, a kitchen knife in her hand – the blade up and pointed towards me.

‘You’re him, aren’t you?’

‘Who?’

‘Her husband! The husband of the woman who threw herself at Benjamin, I knew it the moment I saw you.’

‘You called the police.’ I couldn’t quite believe it.

‘They warned me about you!’ Her voice was suddenly as hard as stone.