‘We have a suspect, yes, but before I can draw any conclusions I need to discover a little more about his family background.’ Jazz paused before saying, ‘I’m sure it’s been a very upsetting time for you.’

‘Of course,’ Emily nodded. ‘I was distressed to hear of Charlie’s death. But if you want me to be honest, I was never close to the boy, nor did I particularly like him. I suppose I should feel guilty,’ she sighed. ‘He was my grandson after all, but I’m afraid he reminded me far too much of his father, who I always thought was a pompous ass.’

Jazz tried not to let a smile reach her lips. ‘Well, I’m sure at the very least, that you’d like to get to the bottom of why he died.’

‘Of course. Forgive me, Inspector,’ Emily checked herself, ‘but speaking my mind is the one advantage of growing old. So, how can I help you?’

‘Well, it isn’t only Charlie who has died recently. A tutor at the school, Hugh Daneman, is also dead, but we’re sure no foul play was involved. He took his own life.’

A shadow crossed Emily’s face. ‘Yes, I read his obituary in The Times. Such a gentle man, and I mean that in both senses of the word. If misguided.’

‘Why misguided?’

‘Surely, Inspector, you know about Hugh’s sexuality? And the fact he was blindly in love with my son for most of his life?’

‘I did know, yes. Lady Conaught—’

‘Please. Emily will do.’

‘Emily.’ Jazz was pulling a plastic wallet out of her briefcase. ‘Do you recognise this boy?’ She handed it to Emily.

‘Excuse me whilst I root around for my glasses.’ Emily felt behind the cushions on the chair and produced them triumphantly. She put her glasses on and studied the photograph. Removing them, she looked at Jazz. ‘Why of course, it’s my son, Corin.’

‘Actually,’ continued Jazz, ‘it isn’t Corin. It’s another young man called Rory Millar, a pupil at St Stephen’s School.’

‘My goodness me!’ Emily looked genuinely amazed. ‘The likeness is remarkable, especially when Corin was younger. Drink and drugs had ravaged him by the time he died. He looked fifty-six, not twenty-six, but there we go.’ Emily handed the photograph back to Jazz.

‘Thank you for that, Emily. You’ve just helped confirm one of my theories.’ Jazz smiled. ‘And now, perhaps you could tell me a little more about the relationship between Corin and Hugh?’

Emily sighed. ‘Well, it was all rather tragic, really. Having spoken to Edward, you must know from him that Corin was wild. Goodness knows who he took after, as neither his father nor I were rebellious, but Corin was, right from the day he was born. Such a naughty little baby,’ she chuckled, ‘didn’t much care for sleeping. Perhaps he felt he might miss something. Of course, going up to Oxford didn’t help. To Corin, it was manna from heaven. He did absolutely no work, spent all his energies having a jolly good time, and experimenting with everything. And I mean everything.’