‘No, I understand, but I’d still like the names,’ Jazz persisted.

He scratched his head. ‘Look, remember this was all hearsay. I knew some of these chaps, they were ordinary human beings; boys like me who liked a joke.’

‘Mr Frederiks, the names, please.’

‘Okay, okay,’ he nodded. ‘There were four of them said to have been involved in the bullying, apparently. They’d arrived at the school, bonded and formed a “gang” of four. Adam Scott-Johnson, Freddie Astley, Harry Connor and . . . Julian Forbes.’

‘Julian Forbes? Are you sure?’

‘Yes. He became a mate later on. Fantastic fly-half. Poor chap, so sad he’s gone.’

‘Thank you, Mr Frederiks. You’ve told me all I need to know. Please excuse me, I have to get back to the station.’

Sebastian watched the inspector turn tail and walk swiftly across the pitch.

Walking into Foltesham station, Jazz went in search of Issy.

‘She’s popped out for a sandwich, Ma’am. She looked exhausted when she arrived back. Heard her news, I hear?’

‘Yes, yes.’ Jazz paced the small space, irritated Issy wasn’t here. ‘Where’s Rory?’

‘At home. Issy suggests you both go and see him this afternoon. But Ma’am, from what she said, Rory has done little more than get confused whilst he was in a state of high anxiety. Besides, how could we tie in Forbes’s death? After all, we know Rory was at home with his mum on Tuesday night. There was one of our PCs sitting right outside her house.’

‘I know, I know.’ Jazz sank into a chair. ‘Unless the deaths were unrelated, which, given there’ve been three in the past week, is statistically off the Richter scale of probability. I just spoke to Frederiks, who told me Julian Forbes was one of the supposed bullies responsible for the death of the boy who died in the cellar of Fleat . . .’ She checked her watch. ‘Shit! Two and a half hours until the press conference . . . I know David Millar didn’t do this . . . it’s something connected with the past but I just can’t . . .’

‘Tell me what Frederiks said exactly,’ Miles said calmly. He was used to the high pitch his boss would reach when she was close to the truth.

‘There was a gang of them . . .’

‘Names?’

‘Oh, Harry someone, Adam . . . I have them written down, but they weren’t names I’ve come across before.’

‘Hold on a moment, Ma’am.’ Miles turned his attention back to the laptop, scrolled down and read the email in front of him. ‘And Freddie, by any chance?’

‘Yes.’ Jazz stopped pacing and turned to him in surprise. ‘Why?’

‘I think you might be spot on about this being to do with the past. Look at this email. It was sent to Julian the night he died. Thought it was odd when I read it.’

Miles turned the screen towards her and Jazz began to read.

Dear Julian,