She knocked gently on the door, then eased it open and looked inside.

‘Carl,’ Wynne heard her say. ‘There’s people here to see you.’

There was a muffled response.

‘OK. I’ll let them know.’

She turned back to look at them.

‘He says can he have a few minutes?’

Wynne nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘Would you like a drink while you wait?’ She smiled. ‘Tea?’

‘No, thank you,’ Wynne said. ‘I just had one.’

‘Do you have coffee?’ DS Dudek said. ‘I’m not much of a tea drinker.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I don’t. Neither of us drink coffee. Although, come to think of it, I did have instant, a while back. Let me check the cupboards.’

‘That’s fine,’ Dudek said. ‘No need to go to any trouble.’

‘Water, then?’

‘Really, Mrs Jameson,’ Wynne said. ‘We don’t need anything. But thank you for offering. It’s much appreciated.’

‘Not at all,’ Edith said. She gave a quiet cough. ‘If I could ask – what is this about, exactly?’

‘Do you recognize the name Annabelle Westbrook?’ Wynne said.

It was clear from the puzzled expression on her face that she did not, or at least, wanted them to think she did not. Wynne was getting the impression that deceit of that kind was not in her repertoire, however.

‘Who is she?’ Edith said.

‘Someone we’re making enquiries about,’ Wynne said.

‘Do you think Carl knows her?’ She frowned. ‘He’s never mentioned her. He doesn’t have all that many friends, Mrs—’

‘Wynne. Detective Inspector Wynne. We think he may know her. He’s certainly met her on at least two occasions. She’s a writer. He attended her readings.’

The frown fell away. ‘Do you mean Annabelle Anderson?’

Wynne glanced at Dudek.

‘Maiden name?’ he said.

‘Or pen name,’ Wynne said.

‘I’ll check.’ Dudek took out his phone and tapped on the screen. After a moment, he nodded. ‘That’s it. She publishes as Annabelle Anderson.’

‘Well, he loves her books,’ Edith said. ‘He’s a big fan. He was saying not so long ago that she had a new book out.’

‘Really?’ Dudek said. ‘When was that?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe sometime around Christmas?’ Edith shrugged. ‘But he hardly knows her. He’s just a fan.’

There was a noise from the room, and a voice called, ‘Come in.’

Wynne smiled. ‘Well, it seems we can ask him for ourselves.’

2

Dudek walked in ahead of her. The minute he was inside, he turned to look at her with an expression she couldn’t read.

She immediately saw why.

Carl Jameson was not simply in this room; he lived in this room. There was a bed against the back wall, a large TV facing it, and bookshelves lining the rest of the room.

Carl was sitting by the side of his bed.