Morag nodded. ‘They used to be quite suspicious of me. I dated Harry for a while, and they thought I had ambitions to somehow get control of the company through him.’

‘They have much smaller stakes in the shares, don’t they?’ Claire said.

She nodded. ‘It’s the old Indian custom of everything for the boys, unfortunately. But Mrs Roy would never have let me marry her son anyway. I knew that early—’

‘Why on earth not?’ Claire interjected.

Morag smiled. ‘Well, as Prisha once famously said to her mother, “You cannot allow him to marry that money-grabbing Scottish harlot.”’

‘Charming,’ Claire said, eyeing Gillard to see his reaction.

‘If the ownership structure had been fairer, there wouldn’t have been so much jealousy, I suppose,’ Gillard said.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Morag said. ‘I love Harry dearly, and he is wonderful company, but I enjoy my independence. He’s always been a bit, well, helpless. I told him long ago that whoever he married would end up clearing up after him for a lifetime. I don’t think his sisters, particularly Prisha, ever quite understood my outlook. For me it’s not just about the right marriage, whether it’s chosen or arranged. From my perspective, I don’t have to marry anyone to be happy. I’m not particularly interested in being rich either. I’m just not ambitious.’ She laughed. ‘They definitely don’t understand that.’

You’re not doing badly for someone with no ambition, Gillard thought. ‘So you would say there are tensions within the family?’ he asked.

Morag snorted. ‘You could say that.’ She ushered them out of the office into the reception area, where a spread of freshly baked breads and chutneys had been put out for them on antique Indian silverware.

‘This is very kind,’ Claire said, helping herself to a Peshwari naan and a spoonful of spicy lime chutney. A number of other staff from the office came to join them, and were introduced to the two police officers. They included the head of legal services, the receptionist and the website designer, a young trendy guy with long hair held in a bun.

Gillard took a plain roti and a small amount of a fiery dip called Rajasthan Rage. While they were eating, a couple of bottles of sparkling wine were opened. ‘Not while we are on duty,’ he said.

‘It’s alcohol free,’ said the website designer.

‘I appreciate that, but it just looks bad for us to be seen doing this while we are investigating the murder,’ he said.

‘Ah,’ he said, pointing out two bulging carrier bags. ‘I do hope you will take your gifts. It’s just a range of our products, a small appreciation of our faith in you finding out who killed our esteemed leader.’

Claire, who Gillard knew was an Indian food fanatic, gave him a meaningful look, but he ignored it. ‘I’m sorry, that’s very kind, but we can’t. We do appreciate the gesture.’

As they said their goodbyes and left for the car park, Claire said, ‘We could have used the excuse to test a range of the products.’