‘What?! No, I bloody wasn’t! Or at least, if I was, my mum and dad made a damned good job of making sure I never knew. I’m sorry, Inspector, I’m a reasonable man, but these questions are really far too personal and unpleasant, and I don’t see why I should have to answer them. I’m not under arrest, am I?’

‘No, you are not, Mr Frederiks. Just one last question: can you tell me your date of birth?’

‘The tenth of April 1965.’

‘Right, that’s all I need.’ She nodded. ‘Thank you for being so patient.’

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair in agitation. ‘This is to do with the will, isn’t it? Well, let me tell you I’m as much in the dark as you, but the fact Hugh decided to make me his beneficiary doesn’t make me a criminal, does it? I’m starting to wish he bloody hadn’t, to be honest!’

‘Thanks for your help, Mr Frederiks. I’ll leave you to round up your belongings. Let the constable know when you leave.’

Jazz stood up and walked out of Fleat House, reaching for her mobile as she headed across Chapel Lawn towards her car.

‘Roland, Hunter here. Yes, it has been a hectic day. No, no news yet. I’d like a special eye kept on Sebastian Frederiks. Tell one of your officers to tail him. If at any time he leaves the school premises, make sure he’s followed. And don’t lose him, okay? Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, I’m on my mobile.’

Jazz then dialled Patrick, whose mobile was unusually switched off, then drove out onto the coast road heading for home. As she wound her way through the narrow streets of Cley, a memory came back to her. She made a mental note to pursue it tomorrow.

Arriving home, Jazz unlocked the front door and walked in to a blissfully warm cottage.

There was a note from the plumber saying he’d left the heating on continuously. He’d been worried about a burst pipe during the cold snap.

Jazz could have kissed him, whatever it had cost in oil.

She put her briefcase down, switched on her answerphone and went into the kitchen to fill the kettle as she listened. There were a number of messages from the builder, giving her excuses as to why he wasn’t on site, and one from her mother, to say she’d allowed herself to leave the hospital for a night’s sleep. And that her father looked as though he would be out of critical care tomorrow.

Climbing the stairs with a cup of cocoa in her hand, Jazz ran a deep and very hot bath and sank into it gratefully. Trying to run through the events of the past twenty-four hours, both personal and professional, then make sense of them, was not on the agenda tonight.

Fifteen minutes later, she was tucked up in bed. She dialled Patrick’s mobile again and was irritated to find it was still switched off. She dialled Issy’s mobile, also on voicemail, and left her a message, asking her to go back to see Rory first thing in the morning, to try and help him remember exactly what he’d done with the two aspirin he’d been given the night Charlie died.