‘Will the next generation set it right?’ Gillard asked.

‘I sincerely hope so.’

DC Hoskins came through with the number plate data pretty quickly.

‘I think it is the same car, sir. It tripped the nearest camera to Ashtead at 7.57 a.m. on the morning of her death. That is six miles away, then went on to trip a whole series of cameras on the A244 northbound between Oxshott and Esher at the roadworks from around eight o’clock to quarter past. We’ve got no other cameras triggered that day.’

‘Morag Fairburn lives at Esher, Carl.’

The junior detective scratched his head. ‘But Kirsty Mockett’s description said it was a man she saw on the bike. And from the camera at Ashtead Station, even the enhanced image shows there is no passenger in the front seat of the car.’

Gillard nodded. ‘I can’t see Morag Fairburn wielding the weapon. But there’s something there, something I can’t quite get my head around. Everything she says is completely reasonable. In fact to me she seems by far the most balanced person around the family, except perhaps Kiara. But something doesn’t sit right. And I don’t know what it is.’

Chapter 16

Gillard was just turning into the close where he lived when he saw a black Porsche Cayenne turn right out of the street, heading towards central London. He glanced at the registration number and did a double take. What on earth was Prisha Roy doing snooping around his street?

He got home to find Sam disconsolately pushing the vacuum cleaner around. ‘Just had a viewing, at short notice. An appalling woman, seemed to sneer at everything. She even said the place was grubby and smelt of cats. The estate agent apologised to me afterwards.’

‘Was she by any chance of Asian ethnicity, in a posh black Porsche?’

‘Oh, did you see her leaving then?’

‘I did. And it’s completely out of order! She was Prisha bloody Roy!’

‘Her? She gave her name as Mrs Tripathi. That bitch. How dare she?’

He could see her anger mounting rapidly. ‘I’m sorry…’

‘She belittled me, Craig. That woman made me feel this small.’ Sam held up finger and thumb close to her husband’s face. ‘And fat.’

‘She made you feel small and fat?’

‘And fucking inadequate.’ She began to cry, her face crinkling. The next words were harder to discern, but punched hard and low. ‘Craig, you never told me she was beautiful.’

‘She isn’t, Sam. Compared to you, she’s nothing—’

‘Don’t lie to me, Craig.’ She howled, and rubbed an arm across her tear-streaked face. ‘I’m fat, my face is blotchy, I’ve got fucking cellulite on my arse, I feel like shit all the time, you’re never here and you spend more time with that woman than you do with me. And she’s loaded.’

‘Sam, that’s not true. None of it. Well, except the money.’ He tried to scoop her into his arms, and after mock beating his chest, she relented.

‘I hate her, Craig.’