Kiara was wearing a long figure-hugging silver dress and standing against a black paper backdrop. Another woman, wielding a tripod-mounted camera and flash gun, was taking pictures. Kiara spotted Gillard and called a stop while she came out to talk. ‘Just shooting my new gala range,’ she said by way of explanation.

‘Beautiful dress,’ Gillard said. He meant it.

‘I’m glad you like it,’ she said, doing a quick twirl. ‘Not everyone does.’

‘Why not?

‘Well, take my sister for example. She said: “Kiki, for God’s sake, you look like a Kit Kat.”’ She laughed, scratching the back of one hand where tender glossy skin stretched across her seared knuckles. Perhaps one burn can mask another.

‘Not kind,’ Gillard said as he ascended the stairs.

‘Don’t you pay any attention to her, Kiki,’ Zayan said, as he led Gillard. ‘She has a cruel streak.’

Mrs Roy’s bedroom was a sumptuous room with two sets of bay windows looking down over the rear into a very large and well-tended garden. The room was dominated by an ornate king-sized four poster bed; in each of the pillars was a carved teak elephant with a stylised howdah supporting the canopy. On a dressing table stood an enlarged sepia portrait, clearly decades old, of a very upright skinny Indian lady with winged glasses. Her stern and haughty expression followed him around the room. There were also smaller pictures of Mrs Roy with the same woman, who was sitting in a wheelchair. Presumably Mrs Roy’s mother.

There was a matching double wardrobe, and beyond it an en suite bathroom with dressing room. The dressing room contained two wooden head mounts on which almost identical chestnut-coloured wigs were draped. There was a startling array of hair products, only a few of which he recognised. However he spotted a couple of hairbrushes, in which numerous hairs were trapped. Looking closely he saw that those hairs also exhibited the same dark pigmentation at the root as Dr Delahaye had noticed. Gillard bagged the brushes, then made a beeline for the bathroom cabinet and, donning latex gloves, opened it carefully. It was indeed full of herbal remedies, some of which by their labels appeared to be of Indian origin. He swept them all into an evidence bag, and sealed it. This was something for the pathologist to look through.

Gillard swabbed the cistern, the dressing table, and a coffee table. He was wondering if mother, like daughter, took cocaine. If so, perhaps the coke was contaminated. He looked up to see Zayan watching him from the doorway, arms folded.

‘Found anything interesting?’

Gillard shrugged noncommittally. ‘Are you related to the family?’ he asked.

‘No, though I’ve been here so long, I’m beginning to feel like part of it. I introduced Harry to Sonali, who is a distant cousin of mine, back in 2014. So from being an Empire of Spice demo chef, I was suddenly go-between between two powerful families, then finally I ended up as the wedding planner. The whole thing is turning out to be a nightmare, let me tell you. The original wedding date was in two weeks’ time. That was the auspicious time – these things still matter to the older generation,’ he said conspiratorially, rolling his eyes. ‘In theory, the next date when the planets are suitably aligned won’t be until early December, and for God’s sake, you can’t have a wedding colliding with Diwali, let alone Christmas, can you?’