‘Christ, so that’s what Elvira was on about,’ the man said to the woman, then turned back to the cops. ‘Our neighbour left us a garbled message about it.’ He led the two policemen to a low and expensive-looking black leather sofa, which hissed as they settled in. The man slumped onto a director’s chair with his back to the picture window, a leg folded horizontally across his thigh. The woman arranged herself on another, a tantalising glimpse of thigh again beckoning Wickens’ gaze.

‘So let’s take down your full names,’ Cottesloe said.

‘I’m Brent Kletz, and this is Juliette.’

‘Full names please.’

‘Brent Oswald Kletzmann.’

‘I’m Juliette Aquaria van Steenis,’ she said, her voice betraying the husky tones of a lifelong smoker.

Cottesloe looked up quizzically. ‘You mean aquarium as in fish tank?’

She rolled her eyes, then spelled her name. ‘As in the feminine form of Aquarius, the sign under which I was born.’

‘Right, I see,’ Cottesloe said, exchanging a glance with his colleague. After the formalities of name and permanent address were completed, Cottesloe came to the point.

‘We understand you had a party yesterday evening.’

‘Is it that obvious?’ Kletz said, holding his head with both hands. ‘Did someone complain about the noise?’

‘No.’ Cottesloe smiled. ‘What time did it finish?’

‘Not late. People drifted away from about one a.m. but the last guest didn’t go until three.’

‘Can you account for all your guests?’ Wickens asked.

‘Account for them?’ Kletz asked. ‘It’s not a nursery class. Their parents don’t come to collect them.’ He shrugged at Juliette, who was quietly killing herself laughing. ‘Fuck, there might still be a couple hiding under the bed in the spare room,’ he said, playing up to her.

‘Have you spoken to any of them this morning?’ Wickens asked. ‘A man is dead. He could have been one of them.’

Kletz shrugged. ‘Look, we’ve not been up long. I think if it was one of our lot, Elvira would have recognised him and said so in her message.’

‘We’ll need the contact details of all your guests,’ Cottesloe said.

Over the next few minutes, and with the unfamiliar deliberation of a toddler learning to write, Kletz compiled a list. ‘There’s twenty-two names on there,’ he said, passing Cottesloe’s notebook back. The list was barely legible.

‘You know, we did hear a splash,’ Juliette said. ‘Like someone jumping in.’

‘What time?’ Cottesloe asked.

The couple looked at each other.

‘Half one?’ she said.

‘No,’ Kletz said. ‘It was later. Must have been two-ish?’ he asked, turning back to Juliette.

‘The cyclist!’ she said, her memory sparked again. ‘You spoke to him.’

‘Yeah, I came out to take a look.’ He described walking up to the bridge and encountering a cyclist.

‘What did the cyclist look like?’ Cottesloe asked.