It was then that she remembered Natasha Lynch, Russell Fox’s financial advisor. She scrolled through her phone and found the number but it went to voicemail again. ‘She’s like the Scarlet Pimpernel,’ Clare muttered. She ended the call and wandered through to her office. Tony’s jacket was gone and she sank down in her chair, allowing her eyes to close.

Clare had no idea she’d fallen asleep until she came to, her head resting on a pile of papers. She was horrified to see she’d drooled on them, smudging the ink. ‘Ugh,’ she said, dabbing her mouth with a tissue. She gave herself a shake then picked up her phone to check for messages. There was a tap at the door and Chris came in bearing a mug.

‘Sara says you’re due another Lemsip.’ Then he stopped and stared at her. ‘What’s that on your face?’

Clare put a hand up to her cheek. ‘No idea.’

‘It’s all black.’

She took another tissue from the box on her desk and rubbed at her cheek. Glancing at it she realised it must have been the ink from papers she’d fallen asleep on. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, too embarrassed to admit the truth.

Chris raised an eyebrow but said nothing, setting the mug down on the desk. He pulled up a chair and sat opposite. ‘I don’t know what your head’s like with that cold,’ he said, ‘but mine’s mince, trying to work this out.’

Clare sipped gingerly at the steaming liquid then she cleared her throat. ‘Okay, let’s go through it, then. Do we accept that guitar man – the one Zac met early on the Saturday morning – is David Fox? And that he’s been staying right here under our noses in the homeless shelter?’

Chris frowned. ‘I think so. I know it’s a bit far-fetched but then Luke’s whole story is pretty far-fetched.’

‘Okay. David has previously been in touch with Gaby about Russell’s fortieth,’ Clare went on. ‘Remember, Luke said he’d sworn her to secrecy. Gaby tells David she’s booked a house in St Andrews and he sees there’s a homeless shelter in the town. He can stay there for a few weeks, under the radar, and slip along to the Lodge whenever he fancies.’ Clare reached for another tissue and blew her nose. ‘As luck would have it he picks up a bit of work in the grounds of the Lodge.’

‘You’re assuming that’s a coincidence?’

‘I can’t see how he could contrive it.’

‘Me neither. What I can’t work out,’ Chris went on, ‘is whether he had a gun or a guitar in that case.’

Clare dropped the tissue into her bin. ‘Doesn’t much matter. There’s any number of ways that gun could have got into the Lodge. Gaby could even have posed it there.’