‘Latte, please, one sugar, thanks,’ she said. She sat down while he went to the counter, and took off her coat. Snow that had settled on her now melted and created a puddle under the table. The cafe was warm and she could feel her cheeks burning. It might be considered odd that after coming all this way, Fabian wanted to share a coffee before visiting his dead father, but then the body was going nowhere. She had no idea as to their relationship in life, or the one he had with his mother, though she’d got the impression over the phone that Vivienne irritated him, like most mothers who fuss too much. She thought of her own and the incessant questions about her life. She realised now that it was a mother’s job to be a pain in the arse, and she fully intended to do the same with Lizzie.

He came back with her drink and sat down.

He was incredibly relaxed for his age, though still cocky, and she thought back to how highly strung she’d been in her twenties, when she worked in London and thought she could save the world, one dickhead in prison at a time.

‘How have you been?’ she asked.

He looked away finally, and it gave her space to breathe.

‘I was doing okay before we got the bombshell about the accident. At first, it was easy to take in the press because they lie about everything, but now you’ve confirmed it was sabotage, I just don’t know what to say. That’s why I’m here, because I hired a private detective to do some digging and it seemed more important to be here now. Before you ask, I have no idea who might want my father dead.’

‘If he was the target,’ she said.

He looked at her and took a bite of his pastry. He chewed slowly, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. ‘You think the target was Donald?’

‘How much do you know about him?’ she asked.

He sucked in his breath and finished the pastry in one last mouthful. He liked to take his time.

‘From my point of view, my mother hated his association with my dad. The two families had a falling-out a few years back and I’m afraid I was not well behaved. My mother informed me that Donald was a drain on my father, and extorted money out of him in return for keeping quiet about certain business deals – perfectly legal, might I add – and protecting him, if you like, from close scrutiny.’

‘Why would that offend your mother so much?’ Kelly thought about the Polaroids from Laurie Fell, and doubted that Vivienne’s distaste for Donald was based on their financial arrangements.

‘You’re after something else? Something sordid, like they’re saying in the press?’ he asked.

‘I’m putting it out there. Is there any truth in it?’