‘Well, they’re not really the same class. Patrick is basically a horse dealer from a family of Irish tinkers in County Offaly. Deborah is the daughter of a garage owner in Handsworth.’

‘You know a lot about them.’

‘They’ve always been keen to socialize with us.’

‘So you had to check them out, too?’

Erin didn’t answer. But Fry was getting signals from Hitchens, and she didn’t press any further. She’d heard enough to form a picture, anyway. It seemed it wasn’t just a question of golf-club syndrome. Deborah Rawson was just as enthusiastic a social climber as her husband, if Erin Lacey was to be believed. And that, as far as Fry was concerned, was quite a big ‘if’.

‘Mrs Lacey,’ said Hitchens, ‘can you give us any other information that might help us to find your father? No matter how insignificant a detail, it could prove useful.’

Lacey shook her head. ‘I don’t think there’s anything I haven’t told you.’

Fry felt her eyebrows rise at that. She didn’t believe it for a moment.

‘If you could try to think back to when you last spoke to him,’ she said. ‘Didn’t he say anything about where he was going, what he was planning to do?’

‘No. Well, I knew that he was coming up to Derbyshire, so he would have been visiting that woman. That’s why he didn’t mention it.’

‘Because he knew you would have disapproved?’

‘I think I have the right to.’

Hitchens leaned across his desk. ‘Mrs Lacey, we have to ask you these questions. Was your father his normal self? Or did he appear depressed, or worried about anything?’

‘Not when he left home, no,’ said Lacey. ‘When I spoke to him on the phone on Wednesday, he was upset about Patrick Rawson’s death, obviously. But I think there was also an element of relief, though he would never have said so. I knew him so well that I could practically read his thoughts. I think Dad was already starting to work out in his mind what Patrick’s death would mean from a business point of view. He was beginning to think about the paperwork, make calls to lawyers, all that sort of thing.’

‘He was planning ahead, then?’

‘Definitely. He’s that sort of man. Conscientious, methodical, always thinking about his work. He was almost itching to get his teeth into the business formalities.’

Hitchens glanced at Fry. People who were busy planning ahead rarely committed suicide, as they both knew.

‘And one final question, Mrs Lacey: Is there anyone you can think of who might have wished your father harm?’

Lacey shook her head again. ‘No. Except –’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, I thank God that Dad never changed his will in favour of the Outram woman. For a gold digger, that would have been a big temptation put in her way, wouldn’t it?’