‘I don’t know. Iqbal didn’t tell me the person’s name. But I once saw him,’ the imam said, brightening at the memory. ‘Yes, it was the last time I saw Iqbal. Earlier this year, I bumped into Iqbal leaving the shopping centre, and when I went to speak to him, he was looking across the road at the car park. I asked him if he was all right, and he got very angry, pointed to a man who was getting out of his car and said that I was looking at the man who’d stolen his inheritance from him.’

‘Was this man very tall?’ Judith asked. ‘In his late fifties? With long grey hair down to his shoulders?’

Imam Latif thought carefully before answering.

‘No, I wouldn’t say he was tall, although he might have been in his late fifties. In fact, now I think about it, he was short. And very podgy. Like a big ball of dough,’ he said, pleased with his simile. ‘He was a very short and very fat man.’

The women were nonplussed. They’d not met any man involved in either Stefan or Iqbal’s case who was very short or very fat.

‘Do you remember what car he was driving?’ Suzie asked.

‘Oh no,’ the imam said, chuckling. ‘I don’t know anything about cars. But I can picture it now. This very short and fat man, wearing a suit and a tie, and carrying a briefcase, got out of his car and left the car park. Iqbal was insistent that this was the man who’d stolen his inheritance from him by making his neighbour change his will. I didn’t know what to say. Iqbal was so agitated. But that was the last time I saw him.’

As they’d been speaking, Imam Latif had led the women out onto the steps of the mosque, and together they’d watched the men help some undertakers load the coffin into a black hearse.

‘Thanks so much for talking to us,’ Becks said, ‘but don’t let us keep you.’

‘Thank you. I need to accompany the coffin up to the cemetery. And thank you again for offering your support today. You are welcome here any time.’

With a warm smile, Imam Latif went over to talk to the undertakers by the hearse.

‘That’s something of a bombshell,’ Judith said.

‘There’s a short, fat man out there,’ Suzie said, ‘who stole Iqbal’s inheritance.’

‘But he wasn’t just short and fat. He was wearing a suit and had a briefcase, so that suggests he’s a businessman of some sort. But before we get too excited, how much money are we talking about?’

‘Well,’ Suzie said. ‘I can tell you, Ezra’s house is in a right old state. I don’t reckon it can be worth that much.’

‘But it’s currently for sale?’ Becks asked.

‘There’s a board outside the house.’