‘She’s unbelievably upset. I don’t know what you said to her, but I’ve had her crying and sobbing down the phone to me this afternoon!’

‘I’m sorry to hear that; she didn’t seem to mind my questions when—’

‘She’s in a dreadful state!’ shouted Bristow, his buck teeth glinting. ‘How dared you go and see her without me? How dared you?’

‘Because, John, as I told you after Rochelle’s funeral, I think we’re dealing with a murderer who might kill again,’ said Strike. ‘The situation’s dangerous, and I want an end to it.’

‘You want an end to it? How do you think I feel?’ shouted Bristow, and his voice cracked and became a falsetto. ‘Do you have any idea of how much damage you’ve done? My mother’s devastated, and now my girlfriend seems to have vanished into thin air, which Tony is blaming on you! What have you done to Alison? Where is she?’

‘I don’t know. Have you tried calling her?’

‘She’s not picking up. What the hell’s been going on? I’ve been on a wild goose chase all day, and I come back—’

‘Wild goose chase?’ repeated Strike, surreptitiously shifting his leg to keep the prosthesis upright.

Bristow threw himself into the seat opposite, breathing hard and squinting at Strike in the bright evening sun streaming in through the window behind him.

‘Somebody,’ he said furiously, ‘called my secretary up this morning, purporting to be a very important client of ours in Rye, who was requesting an urgent meeting. I travelled all the way there to find that he’s out of the country, and nobody had called me at all. Would you mind,’ he added, raising a hand to shield his eyes, ‘pulling down that blind? I can’t see a thing.’

Strike tugged the cord, and the blind fell with a clatter, casting them both into a cool, faintly striped gloom.

‘That’s a very strange story,’ said Strike. ‘It’s almost as though somebody wanted to lure you away from town.’

Bristow did not reply. He was glaring at Strike, his chest heaving.

‘I’ve had enough,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’m terminating this investigation. You can keep all the money I’ve given you. I’ve got to think of my mother.’

Strike slid his mobile out of his pocket, pressed a couple of buttons and laid it on his lap.

‘Don’t you even want to know what I found today in your mother’s wardrobe?’

‘You went – you went inside my mother’s wardrobe?’

‘Yeah. I wanted to have a look inside those brand-new handbags Lula got, the day she died.’

Bristow began to stutter:

‘You – you…’