‘Keith Mason. He’s one of the people the foundation was set up to support. Poor man lost his entire family in the crash. He hasn’t been able to move past what happened. At the time, he was working as an orthopaedic surgeon. He hasn’t worked a day since. I doubt he’ll ever work again. He spent the first four years drowning his sorrows. At the end of last year, I managed to get him into rehab. It’s helped a bit, I think, but he still needs a huge amount of support.’

‘I didn’t realise the support you offered was so hands on,’ Ade said.

‘I’m not that close with everyone,’ Adam said. ‘But Keith needs me. I don’t feel as if I have a choice.’

‘He’d be happy to confirm he was with you on Wednesday morning?’ Rachel said.

‘I’m sure he would, yes.’ Adam stood up, picked his phone off the granite worktop, scrolled through it and handed it to Rachel. ‘Look, here’s the text he sent me.’

Sure enough, there was a text sent from Keith Mason at 11:25 a.m. on Wednesday.

Not doing great today, Adam. Any chance I could take you up on that offer to meet for a coffee?

‘We met at the cafe in St James’ Park,’ Adam said. ‘It was a beautiful day and I thought it would be good for Keith to get some sunshine.’

‘And after that?’ Ade said.

‘I went to my meeting with the TV production company, had dinner with Jake and Felicity. Then went back to my hotel. Clodagh turned up about midnight and told me about Tara. She was in a terrible state.’

‘Where’s the TV company based?’ Ade asked.

‘Soho. I can give you the address. The meeting was at three o’clock so I had a bit of time after I left Keith. I walked up through Trafalgar Square and spent a very pleasant hour browsing the bookshops on Charing Cross Road before my meeting.’

‘That’s it?’ Ade said.

‘I think so.’ Adam frowned. ‘Well, there is one other thing, actually. I’m sorry, I’ve no idea how I forgot. Tara called me.’

‘Really?’ Ade asked, doing a good job of sounding surprised although both she and Rachel already knew this. Charing Cross had sent Tara’s phone records over earlier. She’d made a series of phone calls the day she was killed, including one to Adam Murray at eleven fifty-five that morning.

‘I didn’t speak to her,’ Adam said. ‘She left me a voicemail. She sounded pretty upset, actually. She wanted to know if I’d had any information on how the investigation was going. Apparently, she’d called you lot several times but no one had called her back.’

‘You didn’t call her back?’ Rachel asked.

‘I never got around to it.’

‘Adam?’

Clodagh’s voice, behind her, made Rachel jump.