‘But they wouldn’t have cut their own hydraulic line,’ Kelly said. ‘We have to work on the assumption that somebody got to the chopper on Sunday night when the private party was in full swing. It was posted on social media and so it was no secret, although we’re just catching up.’

‘It had to be Sunday night or Monday morning because the chopper couldn’t have flown more than twenty minutes with that cut in the line, and it didn’t,’ Zoe said. ‘The flight log was computerised, thankfully; that’s a huge benefit of these new models. It flew here on Saturday, from a trip over the sea and back, at sunset. Seems like a leisure trip. After that, it was stationary, here, until Monday morning.’

‘Show me how easy it is to get to a hydraulic line on one of these things,’ Kelly asked.

Lance found a space on a workbench and rolled out some plans, telling her that she was looking at the tail rotor blade of an AW139. It didn’t look that technical, in as much as she thought she could find her way around it, if someone showed her how.

‘All you would need to be told is how to get into the compartment, and which line to slice, that’s it,’ Zoe said.

‘That’s it?’ Kelly asked.

‘It’s like sabotaging a car,’ Lance said. ‘If you’re going to do it, you can do it. Everything you need is under the bonnet. There’s no alarm or safety mechanism to deter somebody if that’s their agenda,’ he said.

‘So it wouldn’t have to be somebody technically minded or trained at all?’ Kelly asked.

‘You’ve got someone, haven’t you?’ Zoe asked.

‘Not yet, I’ve got a few options I’m looking into,’ Kelly replied. ‘Good work.’ She turned away. Then turned back. ‘How long would it take to get in here and cut the line?’ she asked.

‘Ten minutes,’ Lance said.

‘Jesus. And they’d be stupid to walk in the front gate… my guess is they came by boat,’ Kelly said, peering down to the lake. The moon reflected off the water and she could make out the shape of the boathouse.

‘I’ll be inside if you need me,’ she said and walked towards the back of the house, where she’d seen people coming in and out.

She took a set of overalls and shoe covers, put on plastic gloves and went inside to look for the senior forensic officer. She found her huddled around the kitchen table, speaking to several other officers about what to do with the exhibits they’d collated so far, which were clearly mounting up. They knew one another and had worked plenty of scenes before.

‘Evening,’ Kelly said.

The officer greeted her warmly, and her eyes crinkled in a friendly manner indicating that she was smiling under her mask.