A connecting door from inside the annexe led into the main part of the house. The place was larger and somewhat grander than Anthony Abbott’s home. Ben and Wolf swept through the downstairs, and found every room empty. The house felt hushed and asleep, and Ben was wondering whether the Dudleys had gone to bed. He motioned to Wolf and pointed upwards, signalling that they should move up to the first floor.

From the marble-floored main hallway, a broad central staircase with carved banisters led upwards into darkness. Ben and Wolf were heading towards the stairs when a light came on from above, and they heard footsteps coming down from the first floor. They quickly retreated out of sight.

Moments later, Tristan Dudley appeared. He was still fully dressed; if anyone had gone to bed already it was his wife Clarissa. Dudley was holding an unlit cigar in one hand and a large crystal glass containing what looked like brandy in the other. From the slight shuffle in his step, it seemed as though he had already consumed a glass or two of the stuff. Which might have been a normal thing to do on the evening of his daughter’s funeral, but there was nothing mournful about the satisfied little smile on his face. Dudley appeared pretty pleased with himself – and he had absolutely no idea he was not alone.

As Dudley reached the foot of the stairs and started walking across the hallway, Ben emerged from the shadows behind him. The unsuspecting politician was just six steps away. Ben was ready to pounce when he realised that Dudley was heading towards the front door. The unlit cigar suddenly made sense.

What Ben had in mind would require space and privacy. He decided that rather than jump Dudley indoors, it would be easier and more discreet to wait until he was outside, further from the house. He motioned to Wolf and they held back. Dudley reached the front door and stepped outside, paused to gaze up at the night sky, breathed deeply and gave a contented sigh. Leaving the door wide open he ambled off up the garden.

Ben and Wolf slipped out of the house after him and followed, flitting through the shadows cast by the bright moon. Dudley crossed the ornamental gravel yard onto a neat lawn and kept walking. It looked as though he was heading somewhere in particular. Without realising it, he was leading them in the direction of the perimeter wall adjacent to the woodland north of the property, where they’d come in.

The pavilion summerhouse was bathed in milky moonlight. Dudley was heading right for it, evidently intending to quaff his brandy and puff his cigar there. Ben glanced back at the house, now some distance behind them. The upper windows were all dark. There was no sign of life. Nobody watching.