“Jameson left debts in places where he’d put on events,” he continued. “Events where it was announced afterwards that a huge amount of money was raised. More damagingly, there were discrepancies between the money raised and what ended up in the hands of the charity itself. Questions that Bob Jameson would soon have had to answer.”

I looked up. “Even though it’s Bob’s charity – he set it up?”

“He may have been the chief executive, but charities are audited. They have to pass muster with the Charities Regulator and make annual returns. The Jameson Grace charity had shown up some serious issues. Not least of which – he’d been raising money to build another Jameson Grace Home and a big chunk of it has gone missing.” He looked at me. “There was a very big sword hanging over Bob Jameson’s head before he died. The full story just hadn’t got out yet, but it was about to break.”

“So that’s why people were still raising money for him. They didn’t know.”

“Possibly.”

“Do you think that’s why he was killed? Something to do with money?” I handed Molloy one of the mugs. “Sorry, no milk.”

“Thanks.” He shook his head. “God knows. Although I’m not sure what would be gained by killing him. Surely it would be better to just take him to court?”

“You’d think.” I paused. “What about his family? Do they benefit from his death?”

“If he was the one who siphoned off the money, he certainly hid it well. He had all the trappings of wealth but everything he had was mortgaged to the hilt.”

I took a sip of my coffee, locking eyes with his tired grey ones. Despite everything he was doing to protect the town from the flood, the guards’ priority being to preserve life, he was still working away at trying to find out what had happened to the dead man. No wonder he looked exhausted.

“It’s funny. The only person who’s said anything negative about him, at all, is Jude Burns.”

“The huge motorcycle guy? The paramedic?”

I nodded. “From what I can tell, he couldn’t stand Bob Jameson. He said something like “with Bob Jameson, charity began at home” but he wouldn’t say what he meant by it.”

“But yet he was helping to raise money for Jameson’s charity?” Molloy said.

I shrugged. “I know. He said his mother had Alzheimer’s. I wondered if she was in one of the Jameson Grace care homes.”

“Maybe he was one of the people who made a complaint?”

“Maybe.” I waited. “So, if Bob Jameson embezzled money, where did it go? Where did he put it?”

“Good question.” Molloy raised his mug to his mouth.

The mug was one Phyllis had brought back from holidays a few years back. It had a picture of a spider monkey and the words Greetings from Mexico! on it.