‘Where have I got? Two thirds of the way down a dead-end street, if you ask me.’

‘Did Hansard tell you Bussey and Trelease met at his gallery, and had a row that ended in a physical attack? Seed killed Gemma Crowther as revenge for what she did to Ruth Bussey. He’s going to kill Mary Trelease for the same reason. Maybe Stephen Elton too, unless Elton’s guilty plea and the fact that he didn’t actively participate in the attack on Bussey in Lincoln . . .’

‘You know about that?’ Milward smiled. ‘You didn’t know this morning.’

‘You didn’t tell me,’ said Simon, trying to keep his anger down.

‘So who did? See, the trouble I’m having is that you seem to know a fraction too much. If I find out you’ve had contact with Bussey, Seed or Trelease and not told me . . .’

‘I haven’t. Sounds like you haven’t either. What’s being done to find them?’

‘You should be pleased it’s not your problem,’ said Milward. ‘My problem is that I’ve got a chief suspect—’

‘You mean Seed?’

‘No. I don’t mean Seed.’

‘There was no break-in, right? Narrows your suspects down to Seed or Elton.’

‘I’ve got a suspect and a motive,’ Milward continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Nothing in the bag yet, but I’m hopeful. Meanwhile, on the fringes of my investigation, I’ve got your little mess: Seed, Trelease, Bussey, Hansard.’

‘The fringes?’ Simon couldn’t believe it. ‘You’re wrong. I don’t know what’s going on, not yet, but I know one thing: my mess, as you call it, is centre stage. You’ll get nowhere unless you treat it as such.’

‘You’re an arrogant turd, Waterhouse.’

‘So I’ve heard.’

Milward looked as if she’d like to take a swipe at him. ‘I’ve got motive,’ she told him again. ‘Motive’s where I’m strong. What have you got? Phantom stranglings, pictures disappearing from art fairs, mysterious predictions: Seed naming a series of nine paintings Mary Trelease hasn’t done yet—you expect me to take all that seriously?’

‘No,’ Simon told her. ‘I expect you to bury it because it confuses you. And it’s not nine, it’s eight—the paintings Mary Trelease hasn’t done yet.’

Milward frowned. ‘Nine,’ she said, looking at her notes.

‘The first, Abberton, she’s already done.’

She slammed her file shut. ‘I don’t like all this . . . clutter around my investigation. I really don’t like it. How did Zailer know a picture went missing from Gemma’s flat the night she was killed? How did she know it was that picture?’

‘She didn’t know. She was guessing.’