Kletz was strumming his Alvarez classical acoustic gently, sitting on the deck of his houseboat. It was nearly midnight and the river was quiet, just the lapping of the water, the quacking of foraging ducks and the distant hum of traffic on the Hampton Court Road. Juliette had already gone to bed, and he was thinking of doing so himself.

A light on the bridge drew his attention. A head-torch, casting its searchlight erratically over the river, towards him and then back, then down to the water. Kletz muttered to himself about LED lights, far too powerful and dazzling, even at a hundred yards. When his eyes had readjusted he again saw some activity, the light being partially masked by the railings.

Then there was a splash.

Not as loud or as big as the one he had heard two nights before, but enough to stop him playing. The head-torch was now pointing down into the water, the guy leaning over. He realised who it was. That peculiar cyclist again. His suspicions were confirmed by the speed of the man’s departure, and the whirling reflectors on the bike wheels.

He wondered whether to call the police. It was the kind of thing they might like to know, but then judging by previous experiences they would spend half their time sniffing round his own home looking for drugs and leering at Juliette.

No, he’d give it a miss.

Still, he was curious as to what had been tossed into the water.

Chapter Eight

Monday 9 a.m.

Anton St Jeanne was annoyed but not surprised to be pulled over by uniformed police as he was driving across Kingston Bridge. Being a youngish black guy in a new white 7-series BMW, he was never surprised. He had lost count of the number of times he had been stopped over the years. But today he was in a hurry, already running late for a meeting with a supplier at his restaurant J’adore Ça. Anton knew from long experience that arguing just slowed the process down, so he swallowed his irritation and co-operated when they asked him what his number plate was and demanded he produce ownership documents. Again, from long experience, he had the papers to hand. Only when the young female officer had finished establishing his credentials as a legitimate car owner did she ask him what she really wanted to know.

‘So, sir, can I ask you where you were last Friday night?’ The officer was among a group of six checking traffic at the bridge.

‘I was at my restaurant until one a.m.’