Now doubting himself, Gillard apologised to Claire for disturbing her, then cut the line. His theory still made so much sense. It provided a motive, finally. For the murder, and in a traditional Indian family, the imperative of protecting the secrecy over Harry’s real orientation.

He wanted to go home to Sam, for a home-cooked meal, to sit down and relax. But overshadowing that was the meeting with the chief constable at nine a.m. tomorrow morning. Alison Rigby was going to order the release of Jason Waddington. If he didn’t have a plausible new suspect to replace Waddington, she had threatened to call a press conference at which he would have to explain why the investigation had run into the sand.

The detective was disturbed by the whirr and rumble of the lift, summoned to a higher floor. He watched the indicator light. The eleventh, Harry’s floor. He hid himself behind reception, crouching under a desk where he couldn’t be seen.

The lift doors opened and he heard Morag Fairburn’s glorious Scottish lilt. ‘They must know Deepak is the killer to have arrested him. I never liked him, but…’

‘Poor Prish must be horrified,’ Kiara said. ‘And Indigo, poor kid, what about her?’

They were both silent for a moment.

‘So how long have you known about Zayan?’ Morag asked.

‘Not long really. I suspected Harry was gay years ago when he went to college, but then he denied it, and then of course your relationship – all that hand-holding in public, the little stolen kisses, well – it made me doubt myself.’

‘It was all deliberate,’ Morag said. ‘He was always petrified of being discovered, and he probably didn’t completely trust his little sister to keep a secret. It got almost obsessive because the stakes were so high.’

‘I can see why. My father had so poured his hopes and dreams into Harry. If he’d even got the slightest idea who Harry really was, he would have cut him off completely. I mean in Dr Roy’s philosophy there was only one thing lower than a woman, and that was a homosexual.’

‘So you never mentioned your suspicion to Prisha?’ Morag asked.

‘God, no. We’re not that close and Prish was obsessed with this race between you and her to produce the first Hindu son.’ They both laughed uproariously. ‘Now that turned out to be a pointless race. No winners, and now not even a prize!’

‘I was never even in that race,’ Morag said. ‘Did you know, Prisha even gave James a lift home from school, and asked him a load of questions. I think she was trying to find out if he was being brought up a Hindu.’ They both laughed again. ‘Oh, I’ve got to tell you,’ she giggled again. ‘There was one time, it was absolutely hilarious. I think I told you, I used to regularly drive around to Harry’s house, with Zayan lying down on the back seat under a blanket. These private detectives that Prisha had hired would sit opposite, taking photographs for your sister. They were so easy to spot; two fat blokes sitting in a car reading newspapers.’ She laughed again. ‘So they watched me reversing my company BMW into the garage which adjoined Harry’s house. Then I’d walk out and go to the front door, and ring the bell, so the snoopers could see me kissing Harry hello before going into the house. But what they didn’t know was that there was an internal door from the garage, so that Zayan could come in unseen. You might also remember that there was a rear alleyway?’