‘Yes, would you do that, please?’

‘Hold on one moment, then.’

David paced up and down the tiny sitting room as he waited to be put through.

There were a couple of clicks and the housemaster’s voicemail came on. In frustration, David left a message.

Half an hour later, with no call from the head or the housemaster, David was frantic.

He’d go to the school now and see his son. Picking up his car keys, David left the cottage and climbed into the ancient Renault he’d bought a few weeks back. He turned the engine over a few times, but nothing happened.

‘Dammit!’ David thumped the wheel in frustration as he saw the headlamp switch was on. Which meant the battery was almost certainly flat.

He had no near neighbours to provide him with jump leads. He’d have to phone the garage in the morning to come out to him.

David wandered back inside, his agitation uncontrollable.

He went to the cupboard in the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of whisky.

Chapter Four

Jazz pulled the car away from the kerb in front of her cottage and began her journey west towards Peterborough.

‘The bottom line is to find out whether Charlie Cavendish took the aspirin by mistake or not. First port of call is the parents, to get some background information on their son. Adele Cavendish, his mother, is expecting you. Good luck, Inspector Hunter. I’m pleased to welcome you back on the team. Let us both hope you came to the right decision.’

‘Thank you, Sir. I hope so too.’

As she put a Macy Gray tape into the cassette machine, Jazz doubted whether Charlie’s mother would be expecting a detective inspector from the CID to turn up in a fifteen-year-old orange Mini. DS Miles was driving down tomorrow with her staff car, but for today, this would have to do.

She wouldn’t dwell on the fact that the last thing in the world she had been expecting to do this afternoon was interview the mother of a dead child . . . As her father always said, life was too short. And all you could do was to follow your instincts. If it didn’t work out . . . hell, she’d resign properly at the end of the case.

An hour later, Jazz arrived in Rutland. Having only ever passed through on the A1 heading north, she was surprised how pretty it was here, similar to the Cotswolds, with its soft yellow sandstone buildings and gently rolling countryside.

After a couple of wrong turns, Jazz drove up a winding drive to the Cavendish house. She parked her Mini between an old Land Rover and a mud-spattered Mercedes estate to one side of the imposing Queen Anne house.

Walking up the steps to the impressive entrance, Jazz took in the horses grazing in a field next to the house and the magnificent views beyond it onto open countryside. It was an idyllic setting, even on a cold winter’s day.