Jazz pressed the bell to the side of the heavy double doors. She could hear footsteps approaching, followed by the sound of a key being turned, then bolts sliding back. Finally, the door opened to reveal a woman the same height as Jazz, slim and immaculately dressed in a striped shirt, cashmere cardigan, dark trousers and a pair of blue leather slip-ons. Her thick brown hair was short and well cut, the touch of make-up on the eyes and lips complementing the perfectly groomed – if old-fashioned – appearance.

‘So sorry,’ the woman said, ‘we hardly ever use the front door. Everyone usually goes round the back.’ She put out a hand. ‘Adele Cavendish. You must be Inspector Hunter.’

‘Yes,’ said Jazz, ‘thank you for seeing me.’ Jazz shook the outstretched hand.

‘Please,’ Adele said, ‘come through.’

She led Jazz across the elegant entrance hall, with its spectacular curving staircase, and into an ornate drawing room with French windows opening onto the terrace beyond. The room was filled with antique furniture, the windows draped with heavy floral curtains, family photos atop a bureau and china figurines on the mantelpiece.

‘Please, sit down.’ Adele indicated one of the heavily stuffed chintz sofas. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?’

‘No, thank you, I’m fine.’ Jazz reached inside her briefcase for a notepad and pen. ‘I’m sorry to intrude on what must be a dreadful time for you and your family.’

Adele folded her arms and walked across to the French windows, her back to Jazz. ‘To be honest, it hasn’t sunk in yet. I can’t believe Charlie’s gone.’ She turned round, and Jazz saw the pain in her eyes. ‘And now, to know that his death might have been avoided, that it wasn’t his epilepsy, I . . .’ Adele shook her head. Looking desolate, she walked to the sofa opposite Jazz, perched on the edge of it, arms hugging her body. ‘Forgive me. How can I help?’

‘Is your husband here? It might be easier if you were able to speak to me together. I’m going to have to ask you some questions you might find distressing.’

‘He’s not here.’ Adele shrugged. ‘He’s at the flat in London. I did tell him you were coming but he has a big case on at the moment, which apparently takes precedence over the death of our son.’ She gave a pained smile tinged with bitterness. ‘Anyway, he said he wanted the best people on the case to try and establish what did happen to Charlie. What makes it so awful is that we can’t do anything until the coroner has decided on a verdict. How can I begin to move on when my son is still lying in a mortuary?’

‘Mrs Cavendish, I realise this must be the last thing you need at the moment, but I’m sure you must want to know how and why Charlie died.’

Adele’s face softened and she nodded. ‘You’re right. Of course I do. So, please, fire away. Let’s get it over with.’