Best’s eyes narrowed. ‘That is a vile allegation, and it is totally unfounded. What my wife – ex-wife, thankfully – accused me of is disgusting, and I would never do anything like that.’ He pointed at Wynne. ‘And you need to understand that.’

He picked up the photo and passed it to Wynne.

‘We both know that’s not true,’ Wynne said. ‘Which is why we’re here. Since we are, you mind if we have a look around? Still got that darkroom?’

Best nodded. ‘It’s upstairs. And look all you want. There’s nothing to find.’

‘We’ll take a look anyway,’ Wynne said. She was unnerved by his confidence. He certainly didn’t seem at all perturbed by the prospect of his house being searched. Perhaps there was nothing.

Or perhaps it was just well hidden. ‘We’ll start upstairs,’ she said.

She and Edwards walked out of the kitchen and up the staircase. There were four doors, three closed – bedrooms, she assumed – and one ajar. She could see a sink in the gap.

She gestured to Edwards to go into the furthest room. She took the nearest.

It was the darkroom. There was a table with pans of liquid on it, and a rack on to which Best had pegged photos. A duck on a pond, a view of a woodland, a boat going past a swing bridge.

‘Those will be ruined now,’ Best said.

‘You’ll live.’

‘I have the negatives. I can make more.’

Wynne backed out of the room. She opened another door. A guest bedroom, by the look of it. A single bed that had not been slept in, a bookcase, and a wardrobe. She looked around, glancing under the bed, then opened the wardrobe. There were a few old suits hanging in it, dust on the shoulders. On the floor was a ukulele, the strings broken. Other than that it was empty.

She went on to the landing. Edwards was standing at the top of the stairs. He shook his head, then gestured to the ceiling. ‘I’ll check the attic,’ he said.

‘I can get you a stepladder, if you’d like,’ Best said.

Edwards shook his head. ‘No need.’ He went into the master bedroom and came out with a chair. ‘I can use this.’

He stood on the chair and opened the hatch, then pulled himself through it. A light went on, then Wynne heard his muffled voice.

‘It’s empty.’

They went back downstairs and into the kitchen. Edwards opened the back door. The garden was small, surrounded by a high fence. There was a patio and a fish pond and a messy, overgrown lawn. At the far end was a shed. Wynne walked slowly to it, looking for places – maybe a corner cut off behind the fence – where something – someone – could be hidden.

There was nothing. Nothing in the shed, either. Just some old tools and a push mower.

‘Let’s check the garage,’ she said.