“I hope so too,” said Mrs. Stefanidis. “Nothing worse than a tepid cup of tea.” She slid her hands toward the drink, fingertips fluttering on the surface of the tray. “There are a lot of you out there. Up and down the stairs, talking on your radios. Must be serious.”

“The man in the flat upstairs, Mr. Franks. We found him unconscious in his bath, taps still running. That’s why it leaked through the ceiling. We’re treating it as suspicious.”

“You think he was attacked?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. It must be a shock to hear that something like this has happened in your building.”

“I knew there was something wrong. It was a little worrying, of course, with the water coming down onto the table. But I phoned Terry, and he came straightaway, bless him. I thought it was maybe a burst pipe; it’s been so cold lately. But after a while I could smell it, just faintly. The blood.” She wrinkled her nose, as if she could still smell it now. Perhaps she could—enough of it had soaked into the kitchen ceiling to cause the plaster to bulge low and stain it rust-red.

“I’m sorry you had to experience that.”

“So, his attacker … are they still at large?”

“We’re currently trying to identify suspects.”

Mrs. Stefanidis rubbed her elbows as if she were chilly. “You don’t think they’ll come back? This building isn’t secure, not really. People just buzz anyone in, or come in behind you when you open the door. They say they’ve business here, but who’s to know? I don’t have anything worth taking, but they don’t know that, do they?”

“We don’t think it was a burglary. No valuables were taken, or at least it’s not obvious that anything has gone. His wallet was still there, full of cash.”

“Really? So, why? I mean, if they didn’t want to rob him? Why would anyone, otherwise?”

“That’s what we need to establish.”

“He used to come around when we first moved in,” said Mrs. Stefanidis. “That was when his mother was still alive, of course.”

“His mother? She lived with him here?” Jo noted it down.

“Yes, she did. She was a lovely woman, Eva. Only a few weeks after they came, she disappeared. I haven’t thought of her for months. Sweet lady.”

“Disappeared? Was it reported to police?”

“I don’t mean disappeared like that. Only, that’s what it seemed like to me. She would pop by every other day or so, have a natter, cup of tea. I thought we’d be friends for life. Last time I saw her she said, “See you tomorrow,” but she never came. After a week, I went up and knocked. He answered. “She’s dead,” he said. Heart attack. I remember the words because he sounded so different to how he normally sounded.”

“Different how?”