‘Well yes, but for it to work they’d have also to clone those rather distinctive alloy wheels. It wouldn’t be worth the effort, to be honest.’

‘It might be, if somebody wanted to frame me.’

‘If so, they wouldn’t be doing a very good job. It’s quite clear that the car was being driven by a dark-complexioned man.’

‘And this is the man who killed Mrs Roy?’

‘It’s quite possible.’

At that moment there was the noise of a key in the door. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘My bridesmaid’s dress,’ Morag stood up and went out into the hall. Gillard recognised the wedding planner Zayan, standing there with some weighty plastic-wrapped clothing. He kissed her on both cheeks, popped his head in and said: ‘Hello again, detective chief inspector.’

‘So do you have a new wedding date?’ Gillard asked.

Zayan rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Don’t ask,’ he sighed. ‘It’s an absolute nightmare, the bride’s mother is impossible, just impossible.’ He turned to Morag. ‘Harry should have married you darling, life would have been so much simpler.’ He laughed, and ran up the stairs carrying the dress.

‘He has a key to your house?’

‘Yes. And he has used the car in the past. But he was away in India with Harry when she died, so it won’t have been him.’

‘Ah, I see.’

As Zayan came downstairs, now empty-handed, Morag called him in. ‘The detective chief inspector has been asking about the Toyota. You were away in Mumbai with Harry, weren’t you?’

‘Absolutely. Last time I borrowed the heap was in February I think.’ He turned to Gillard. ‘Got my own gorgeous Mini now. I mean you can’t go to clients in that knackered old thing.’ He jabbed with his thumb out into the road. ‘However, the Toyota does have room to lay out a full length wedding dress without folding, which is something I suppose.’ He waved his goodbyes and was about to go when Gillard asked for his contact details. He wrote down the phone number, and an address in Walton-on-Thames, then looked up, slightly puzzled.

‘Isn’t that the same building that Harry lives in?’

‘Yes. But mine is a pokey little flat, not a palatial penthouse like he’s got.’

Gillard asked for the keys to the Toyota, and went out to take a look just as Zayan was pulling away in his Mini. It was too dark to see anything clearly, so he went to his own vehicle, dug out a large torch, then donned a pair of latex gloves. He peered in through the windows and was disappointed to see that the car was clean and tidy. Of course, Mrs Boswell had borrowed it. She was the kind who would have vacuumed it all out before returning it. Maybe even had it valeted. Gillard berated himself that it taken so long to track down this vehicle. He walked all around it, and realised that the exterior had been cleaned too. CSI were never going to find anything, he was convinced of that. The detective squatted down behind the tailgate, confirming from the reflection in the torch beam that the handle, and that lovely bastion of all good fingerprints, the bottom edge of the tailgate, had been cleaned.