‘That’s the thing. He said he’d been out at a restaurant with friends, and when he got home he’d discovered someone had smashed a window and broken into his property. But by the time an officer arrived to take his statement, Mr Dunwoody had to admit that he couldn’t find anything that had been stolen.’

‘Nothing was stolen?’

‘That’s what he said. And yet it was very definitely a break-in. But his computer was still there. His collection of art. And I can tell you, Mr Dunwoody owns a number of oil paintings, and not one of them had been stolen.’

‘This was five weeks ago? A week after the bust-up Mr Dunwoody had at Henley?’

‘I suppose so. But did Mr Dunwoody mention the break-in to you?’

‘I haven’t spoken to Stefan in weeks, I’m afraid.’

‘Or did you see anything suspicious at the time? Maybe someone lurking near his property? Or a car parked by his house that looked different?’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t. More’s the pity. The first I knew anything was wrong was when I heard him being murdered last night.’

‘Ah, now I’m really going to have to stop you there, Mrs Potts. You see, we don’t know for sure that someone shot Mr Dunwoody.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘We don’t know Mr Dunwoody was murdered.’

‘Are you saying the bullet hole appeared in his forehead as if by magic?’

‘Well, no, but we can’t rule out that his death was a terrible accident. Or what if he did this to himself?’

‘You think he committed suicide?’

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘Poppycock!’

DS Malik blinked in surprise. Had the woman in front of her just used the word ‘poppycock’?

‘If he took his own life, the pistol would have dropped to the ground somewhere. Before he fell into the river. And I can tell you, when I was looking, I didn’t see a gun on the ground anywhere.’

‘Yes, I can see why you’d think that, but maybe the gun fell into the river after he’d shot himself. I’ve instructed divers to search the riverbed for it. In the meantime, you really mustn’t jump to any conclusions, Mrs Potts. We must let the evidence lead us, not our assumptions.’

Judith appraised DS Malik. The woman might be efficient, capable even, but she clearly lacked imagination. She was a typical ‘head girl’ type, Judith decided, not entirely kindly. But then, Judith had been expelled from the very posh boarding school she’d been sent to as a teenager. She’d also been expelled from the really-very-much-less-posh boarding school she’d been sent to next. And the one after that. Suffice to say, she and the head girls of the schools she’d attended hadn’t ever seen eye to eye.