‘It is, Doctor. Can I bring you anything else in the meantime?’

‘Please, Lara, could you leave the telephone by my side. And my diary, if you would be so kind.’

‘Of course, Doctor,’ she replied with a subtle bow of acknowledgement.

The flames finally wooed the timber with their persistence. Alec rested his eyes for a moment, enjoying their heat against his cheeks. His study was too large a room to banish the cold completely, an oversight on his father’s behalf. One of the old man’s many shortcomings.

The building was practically a shell when the deed was signed. Fittings were too few to render it remotely liveable. Ivy had snaked inside through splintered doorframes and windows, inspiring the usual suspects to take up their residency: rodents, insects, birds, and beasts – poor housekeepers, all of them. So dilapidated had it become that restoration seemed a fool’s errand. The previous owner assumed that it was his wish to knock it down and rebuild, and so it was auctioned off at a sliver of the market value. The estate itself – mere overgrown grass and oak – wasn’t appreciated for its full worth by any man but Alec’s father.

The manor’s interior was eviscerated, including the grand mahogany staircase with its fluted balusters worth more than the building it was housed in. The man’s vision was unique, as were his needs. Many small rooms required many small lights, whereas a large hall could be lit without great expense. In its original state, most of the study’s window frames were bricked up, leaving the bare minimum to admit sufficient light during the daytime. A new corridor was constructed. This led into the kitchen and bathroom, and upstairs to the other chambers where no windows remained. The manor would have appeared derelict and unlived in from the outside, and suitably uninviting. His family never had been the sociable sort.

Alec drew the phone’s receiver to his ear. The location of his home was a secret known to few. His trust in Lara remained uncompromised. Like her mother before her, she had always demonstrated absolute discretion. That left only one other: a man whose confidence Alec had paid handsomely to hold.

‘Barry,’ answered the voice.

‘Good evening, Detective.’

Barry coughed to clear his throat. A coarse and obvious play for time. Alec got the impression that the man had been slouched quite comfortably at his desk, and that he now sat forward like a nervous bird on its perch, the pride of his profession humbled in an instant.

‘Doctor Sparling,’ he replied. ‘I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.’

Alec imitated a laugh as best he could. Much like his smile, it didn’t come naturally. It was too high-pitched and false to ever convince. Not that this was his intention.

‘I suppose the criminal never expects to get caught, does he, Detective?’

‘I don’t believe I understand.’