Adele looked at Jazz in horror. ‘You’re asking me if Charlie committed suicide because he’d had an argument with his father? Never! Never!’ Adele shook her head fiercely. ‘If you’d met Charlie, you’d understand. His problem with his father stemmed from his zest for life, not his fear of it. He was the most vibrant person I know!’

The last shreds of reserve fell away and Adele Cavendish burst into tears. She pulled a handkerchief from her cardigan pocket and blew her nose. ‘I’m sorry, but just the thought of Charlie taking his own life, it’s . . . just too much.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Cavendish. I had to ask,’ Jazz replied gently. ‘I believe the coroner has spoken with you and told you Charlie died of anaphylactic shock, brought on by an allergic reaction to aspirin?’

‘Yes. He called William last night.’

‘So . . .’ Jazz paused. ‘It is just possible that suicide might be one explanation, don’t you think?’

‘No! Absolutely not! Charlie wouldn’t do that. He must have taken them by mistake.’ There was another pause as Adele blew her nose once more and pushed the handkerchief back in her pocket.

‘Charlie definitely knew he was allergic to aspirin, didn’t he?’

‘Of course he did. We drummed it into him. We found out when he was five. He’d had a temperature and I gave him some aspirin-based suspension. A few minutes later, he started to choke and fit; it was terrifying. Fortunately the ambulance arrived just in time to revive him, but it was a very close call. It was that which triggered the epilepsy – it’s quite common apparently – and from then on, Charlie had to take pills every morning and evening to control the fits, and steer well clear of aspirin.’

‘A dose corresponding to two aspirin tablets was found in Charlie’s bloodstream. There was no sign of a struggle, so we can discard the theory that he was forced to take them.’

‘Had he been drinking?’ Adele asked.

‘The alcohol found in his bloodstream only amounted to consuming one pint of beer, so he wasn’t drunk.’

‘I almost wish he had been,’ mused Adele. ‘God knows what he must have gone through in his last moments. It’s the most awful way to die. And alone . . .’

Jazz waited until Adele had collected herself again before asking, ‘Mrs Cavendish, do you know if your son had any enemies, anyone who disliked him? Did he ever mention a particular boy at school, or a teacher, for instance?’

Adele paused before she answered. ‘I’m sure there were those who disliked Charlie. Strong personalities always tend to create enmity in others, don’t you think?’

Jazz nodded.

‘But if you’re asking me whether someone murdered Charlie . . . well, no, it’s ridiculous!’

‘Did Charlie ever mention having a girlfriend?’

Adele managed a weak smile. ‘Oh, Charlie had lots of girlfriends. But they came and went regularly, as they do when you’re eighteen and as handsome as he was. It was about the only thing he liked at St Stephen’s, the fact it was co-ed.’