And to be honest, Sebastian had presumed the feeling was mutual.

There seemed little point speculating until he had seen the solicitor in a couple of days’ time. If Daneman had left him something in his will, Sebastian would be surprised. He folded the letter, replaced it in its envelope, then studied the ring on his pinky finger. He sat back, sweeping a hand through his hair, feeling slightly breathless.

Now, there was no reason to remove it, ever again.

Isabella Sherriff was a lady of extravagant proportions. She dressed in voluminous silk kaftans, with scarves and beads adorning her neck, a magnificent mane of titian hair hanging to her waist.

At the Yard, she was nicknamed ‘The Magpie’, due to her passion for all things shiny. Every finger was covered in rings and her wrists clanked as she moved her arms, owing to the several layers of bangles.

Jazz admired Isabella for her individual sense of style. And her unmatched skill as a psychologist. Issy had rarely been proved wrong. Norton trusted her too, and her evidence in court had helped them nail a number of complex cases that could have gone either way.

As she walked into the interview room, she thought how Issy only needed a crystal ball to complete her ‘look’.

‘Darling!’ Issy held out her arms to embrace Jazz. ‘Let me look at you. My, my, the Norfolk air seems to be suiting you. You look wonderful!’

‘Thanks, Issy. I’m so grateful for you coming. We’re feeling like the troops in the last outpost in the desert just now. What started as a simple case seems to have grown far more complex.’

‘Don’t they always?’ Issy smiled. ‘Crime does take place outside the cities, even though that townie lot at HQ don’t think it does. Awfully quaint this, isn’t it?’ Issy threw her arms open to indicate the interview room. ‘I feel like I’m on the set of Dixon of Dock Green.’

‘The local plods would argue that’s because all the funding goes to the big cities,’ Miles explained. ‘You can understand their point. I know that this is only a sub-station, but the lack of equipment and low staffing levels are breathtaking.’

Issy reached over and chucked his cheek. ‘Oh, my little bleeding heart. You’re so cute when you’re angry. I could just eat you. Couldn’t you, Jazz?’

Miles blushed and Jazz, ignoring the comment, pulled out a chair and sat down.

‘Right, presume you’ve seen our suspect?’

‘Oh yes.’ Issy balanced her ample frame on the small wooden chair. ‘I talked to Mr Millar for forty-five minutes.’

‘And?’

‘As we know, one can never be one hundred per cent about these things, but I have to say I’d eat my Auntie Madge’s extremely substantial bottom if he was our killer. I gave him the usual oral psychometric tests, plus my little box of trick questions and, in my considered opinion, David Millar is a non-aggressive, reactive individual whose modus operandi does not fit with any kind of premeditated murder.’