Would she sleep with him?

Jazz sipped her wine thoughtfully.

She had so many single, liberated girlfriends who didn’t think twice about jumping into bed with a man they found attractive. There was no complexity, no thought of the future, just a few hours of mutually enjoyable pleasure.

But . . . even before Patrick, it had never been like that for her. However hard she’d tried, she’d found it impossible to separate sex from emotional commitment. Which meant, even though there had been no shortage of boyfriends, the number of lovers she’d had was a low, single figure.

Perhaps now, she had to grow up, take control, put what she knew were her deeply felt feelings to one side. If she wanted to sleep with Jonathan, or any other man she found attractive, why the hell shouldn’t she?

Jazz shook her head. It was who she was. And it was doubtful she’d ever change.

Jazz smiled as she went into the kitchen to make herself a bowl of pasta. Maybe Miles was spot on with his Miss Marple analogy. Perhaps she was destined to be an old maid, solving crimes, but steering clear of emotional involvement.

She put Chopin on the CD player and ran over her notes and her schedule for tomorrow.

It was nearly midnight when her mobile rang.

‘Norton here, Hunter. Your David Millar has just turned up with his son at a police station in Windermere. And he’s confessed to the murder of Charlie Cavendish.’

Chapter Seventeen

When Jazz arrived at Foltesham police station at eight o’clock the next morning, David Millar was already waiting for her in the interview room.

‘Hello, Mr Millar, we have met once before at St Stephen’s.’ She nodded at him as she sat down and removed her laptop from its case.

‘Have we?’ David Millar shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t remember. I was probably drunk at the time.’ He shrugged sadly.

‘Mr Millar, you are entitled to have a solicitor present during this interview. And I would advise it.’

He shrugged again. ‘What on earth for? I’ve already admitted to the crime.’

‘All right.’ Jazz pressed the start button on the tape recorder. ‘Eight nineteen a.m. DI Hunter interviewing David Millar. He has declined to have a solicitor present. Mr Millar has already confessed to the murder of Charlie Cavendish on Friday the fifteenth of January, and I am conducting his first interview. All right, Mr Millar? Anything you want to say before we begin?’

David shook his head wearily.

‘Mr Millar, last night you informed an officer in Windermere police station that on the night of Friday the fifteenth of January, you murdered Charlie Cavendish. Do you still stand by your admission?’

David Millar nodded. ‘I do.’

‘What I would like you to do now, Mr Millar, is run through exactly what happened that evening.’

‘I’ll do my best, but obviously, I was drunk at the time, so some of the details might be sketchy.’