‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘it is. But the person who did have access to aspirin that night was Rory. Hugh Daneman put them into his hand. And when I asked Rory directly this afternoon whether he’d taken them himself, he said he “couldn’t remember”. I need Issy to speak to Rory again to try and get the story out of him.’

‘You think a kid of thirteen did this?’ Patrick whistled. ‘Jesus, that’s a nasty one. Anyway, when yer man downstairs comes to, I’ll be giving him the once-over, that’s for sure.’

Jazz gritted her teeth. ‘You do that. But Issy agrees with me, too. Neither of us think it was Millar.’

‘Well now, there is the small question of another body since you both last spoke to Millar. The fellow was even picked up in Norwich, close to the dead man’s offices. You can’t ignore the facts, Jazz.’

‘I’m not. And to be honest, I don’t want to waste any more time standing here and arguing about them. Where’s Miles?’

‘In Norwich at Forbes’s office taking statements.’

‘Right.’ Jazz picked up her briefcase. ‘I’m going to visit Corin Conaught’s mother, see if she can shed more light on this relationship between her late son and Hugh Daneman. Then I’ll head home and we’ll meet back here tomorrow morning.’

‘Surely you’re wasting your time, Jazz? We know Daneman committed suicide. He’s out of the murder loop; downstairs we have a suspect with a perfect motive . . .’

Jazz’s good intentions abandoned her, as frustration welled up. ‘I thought we agreed this is my investigation, not yours, Patrick. And until the time comes when we have made an arrest, it is my duty as commanding officer to continue to interview anyone who might be able to give me some further clue as to the reason why three men have died in the past week.’ She eyed him. ‘Unless, as senior officer, you’re pulling rank and telling me not to?’ Her eyes blazed with anger.

Patrick put his hands out in front of him in a calming gesture. ‘To be sure, Jazz, I’m not, and have no intention of doing so. Now, so, off you go and I’ll see you here tomorrow morning. Unless . . . you’d be wanting some company later?’

Suppressing a sudden urge to snort at the absurdity of Patrick’s suggestion, Jazz said, ‘I’m exhausted and I need some sleep. Goodnight, Patrick.’ She walked quickly out of the police station and climbed into her car. Then she hit the steering wheel hard with a scream of frustration.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sebastian Frederiks stood outside Walsingham House, where twelve of his younger boys had been billeted whilst Fleat House was off limits, and pulled out his mobile. He dialled a number, and when the call was answered, spoke softly into the phone.

‘Hello, darling, I’m not going to be able to get away tonight after all. All hell has broken loose here. Can I call you later? I might be able to make it tomorrow morning? Okay, love you, bye.’