‘And as I explained before, DC Waterhouse, I’ve already established that Mary doesn’t want to see or speak to you or any of your colleagues, or have you in her home. She became quite hysterical at the prospect, and I can’t afford . . .’ Bedell broke off. His chin puckered as he swallowed a yawn. ‘Let me spell it out for you,’ he said, as if granting Simon a special favour. ‘Egan and Cecily Wyers have been extremely generous to us over the years. Villiers isn’t like Eton or Marlborough, or most of the public schools you might have heard of—we haven’t got vast reserves of capital to fall back on when times are hard. If our numbers fall, as they have recently, and there’s less coming in from fees, we’re in trouble. Frankly, we need the support of parents like the Wyerses—it’s thanks to them alone that we’ve got a brand spanking new theatre building.’ He threw up his hands, a gesture that invited Simon to contemplate the narrowly avoided catastrophe of the school’s having to go without this particular asset. ‘Our part of the bargain is the cottage, providing a safe haven for Mary where she can get on with her work in peace. In view of which, I’d like to ask you what I asked DC Dunning: is a warrant and all it entails strictly necessary? Because, I won’t lie to you, it’s not going to go down well with Egan and Cecily.’

‘Do Mr and Mrs Wyers have a particular interest in Mary Trelease?’ asked Simon.

Bedell’s face dropped, losing all its expression. ‘Pardon?’ he said.

Simon repeated his question.

‘Don’t you detectives communicate with one another? I explained the situation to DC Dunning in all its irregularity.’

Simon was considering how best to respond to this when Bedell said, ‘I’m going to give him a quick call, if that’s all right. He said nothing about you turning up, and . . .’

‘You’ve seen my ID,’ said Simon. He was getting into that cottage, even if he had to tie Bedell up with telephone wire. ‘Did Dunning tell you he wants to speak to Mary Trelease in connection with a murder?’

Bedell closed his eyes. Left them closed for a good few seconds. ‘No, he didn’t. This is a disaster, a complete disaster.’

‘I take it you mean for the murder victim,’ said Simon. ‘Gemma Crowther, her name was. She was shot in her home on Monday night. The killer then knocked her teeth out and hammered picture hooks into her gums.’

Bedell winced and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He stood up. ‘Listen, I’d appreciate it if you’d take my word on one thing. Mary has her problems, I won’t deny that. Genius has its price. But she certainly hasn’t killed anybody. That’s taking it too far, to accuse her of that.’