I wanted to find out more about Bob Jameson and his life, more than I had already. His brother and wife had been less than forthcoming, but there had been chinks of light during other conversations, narrow gaps which, if I prised them open, might reveal something more.

It was possible there was some information online about the charity he had set up. Even if the salary issue had been resolved, and there were no conclusions yet in relation to the other alleged irregularities, surely there would be some mention of them somewhere? It was the kind of scandalous wrongdoing that made journalists salivate, the hypocrisy drawing readers in.

I did a search for Bob Jameson just as I’d done before, this time scrolling past all the obituaries I’d looked at already. Images of Bob and Amanda emerged, at charity functions and black-tie affairs; he usually laughing while she sometimes looked a bit lost. Then I came across a full-page feature for the Irish Independent from December just gone, with the headline The Amazing Grace Story; what a hymn meant for one charity boss. I settled down to read it, taking a sip of my tea.

I’d hoped I might find something more revealing than in the obituaries, but the article was one of those fawning Hello!-type pieces praising the man’s achievements and his happy family life. Bob spoke about running an orphanage in Nigeria as being a sort of penance for his time in London. When he’d seen the poverty that existed in Nigeria, he’d regretted everything he’d done when working in big business. He’d felt guilty but when he’d heard the story of the “Amazing Grace” hymn, he’d accepted that a person could completely shed their earlier life and be reborn. Nigeria had been Bob Jameson’s storm, his Road-to-Damascus moment, that Derek had told me about on the way to Mamore. There was a photograph too; a posed family portrait in front of a huge Christmas tree with presents underneath, Bob and Amanda with their two kids, smiling young black men. The piece mentioned one as playing hurling and the other was studying Irish at University College Galway.

But it did make me wonder if something had happened in London. I’d been interested in Bob Jameson’s charity but maybe the key to his death lay with his past life instead. I checked his obituary again for the name of the investment bank he’d worked for; Oak Knap Investment Bank, then did a search for it. There were lots of business pieces, which I skipped, but when I came across a Daily Mail article I sat back. The headline was so lurid that I flinched – British Bank in Floors of Whores scandal! Bingo! There it was.