‘Fine.’

They walked out of the refectory and made their way across Chapel Lawn. ‘So, what’s this story about the boy hanging himself in the cellar?’ asked Jazz.

Sebastian shook his head. ‘Nothing really, just a piece of St Stephen’s history, that the boys like to turn into something more.’

‘So, did a boy hang himself down there?’

Frederiks looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes, he did. But it was all a long time ago.’

They’d arrived at the yellow police ticker-tape surrounding Fleat House. Jazz stepped under it and walked towards the entrance. Frederiks followed suit. There was a young constable pacing up and down outside, trying to keep warm.

‘Evening, Ma’am.’

‘Evening. I’ll go in with Mr Frederiks, Constable.’

‘As you like, Ma’am.’

They entered the dark, deserted building and Frederiks reached for the light switch. He shuddered as they passed the corridor leading to the cellar. ‘What a day. Can’t believe it, really. Poor old Julian. Have you any idea yet what’s going on around here?’

‘We’re working on it, Mr Frederiks,’ Jazz replied noncommittally as they arrived at the door leading to his flat.

‘Won’t be a jiffy, just collecting some stuff,’ Frederiks said as he left her in the sitting room.

Jazz wandered around the room whilst she waited. On his desk, there was a large framed photograph of an older couple.

Frederiks arrived back carrying an open holdall. ‘Are they your parents?’ she asked, pointing to the photo on the desk.

‘Yes.’

‘Are they both still alive?’

‘No, sadly not.’

‘Did they die recently?’

‘My father died fifteen years ago and my mum passed away a few months ago,’ Frederiks replied.

‘I see. Did you have brothers and sisters?’

‘No, only me.’

‘Did they live locally?’

‘Yes . . . look, Inspector.’ He frowned. ‘I can’t see what my family has to do with this. Can we leave it, please? I was close to my mum and I still miss her.’

‘My apologies. And sorry to be a pain, but would it be possible to get me a glass of water? I’m terribly thirsty.’

‘Okay,’ Frederiks nodded, ‘I can get you a glass from my bathroom, unless you want bottled and we’ll have to go to the kitchens.’

‘No, tap will do fine, thanks.’

Whilst Sebastian was fetching the water, Jazz walked to the holdall, took the item she wanted from the top of the pile of belongings and slipped it into her pocket.

Frederiks reappeared with a glass. ‘Thank you.’ Jazz sipped the tepid water. ‘So, I presume you inherited everything when your mum died?’

‘Yes, what there was left of it,’ he confirmed. ‘My mum was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s ten years ago. She was only sixty. She spent her last seven years in a home. I had to sell her house to pay for her nursing costs. There wasn’t a lot left over.’

‘Did she leave you all her personal possessions?’

‘Of course she did.’ Frederiks was getting seriously irritated now. ‘Why?’

‘Mr Frederiks, sorry to ask this, but do you happen to know if you were adopted?’