‘It’s illegal,’ said Wickens, as if the two had never heard the word before. ‘I think we can refrain from ordering a search, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find a few more plants, a good bit of wacky baccy, on your boat.’

‘I thought you wanted our help,’ Juliette said.

‘And right now we are giving you ours,’ said Wickens. ‘And here it is: we would be perfectly entitled to issue a penalty notice for disorder on finding even modest amounts of cannabis. It would be a warning, effectively…’

‘I know how it works,’ Kletz replied.

The two officers looked at each other. ‘Do you have previous convictions?’ Wickens asked.

‘A few, nothing serious.’

Juliette laughed. ‘He shared a cell with Hugh Cornwell in 1980.’

Kletz turned to his partner. ‘Thanks for that.’

Wickens looked baffled.

Cottesloe whispered to his colleague: ‘Lead singer of the Stranglers.’ The younger officer didn’t seem much enlightened.

Kletz turned to the cops and shrugged. ‘It was only three weeks. But Pentonville back then was the worst place in the world.’

‘That’s as maybe,’ Wickens said. ‘We’ll take no action so long as you are straight with us, okay? But I strongly suggest that you don’t flaunt any of your unpleasant personal habits if we need to speak to you again.’

The two officers signalled the end of the interview and were shown to the door. Once they were standing outside on the deck, Wickens said: ‘I saw some signed posters in the bathroom. This bloke used to be a session musician. Played with Jeff Beck, Jimmy Page and Eric Clapton.’

‘He told me he played bass,’ Cottesloe said. ‘Must have seen some parties back then.’

‘They might well still be having them,’ Wickens said. ‘Pound to a penny it was snowing cocaine last night.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’ Cottesloe squinted into the sky and wondered whether if he had pursued his own musical studies with a bit more effort when he was at school it could have been him.

Once the cops had gone, Kletz turned to Juliette and said: ‘You’ve got to be more careful. It could bring the roof crashing in.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ she said.

Kletz then went to the kitchen, brought out a biscuit tin and took off the lid. Inside were lots of small polythene bags with tablets inside. ‘What about these? When were you going to tell me about this?’

‘Jesus, Kletz. Give me a chance. It was a last-minute opportunity.’

‘But what if the police come back for a search? How on earth are you going to explain them?’

Juliette looked heavenwards. ‘I’ll take them to Matt’s this evening, okay? I don’t know why you feel the need to panic.’

Kletz shook his head. ‘What if he did kill someone? Sitting there with his music blaring out, like he owns the world. What if they discover your connection to him?’