‘No, I’m simply asking you if there is a back entrance. Is there?’

‘Yes, there is. I’ll show you if you want. And there’s the fire escape which runs from the top of the house to the bottom. Look, Inspector Hunter, let me make something clear once and for all: I above anyone am gutted about what has happened. Under the circumstances, I can’t think of anyone less likely to hurt a hair on Charlie Cavendish’s head.’

‘What “circumstances”, Mr Frederiks?’

He looked uncomfortable and some of his righteous anger dissipated. ‘For the obvious ones, of course. I’m Charlie’s housemaster, in direct loco parentis. The fact I wasn’t here when Charlie died is something that will stay on my conscience for the rest of my life. And, as for my future teaching career, it’s hardly going to do my reputation much good to have the death of one of my boys on my record, is it?’

‘I think that’s all for now. Thank you for your time.’ Jazz popped the pills back in her pocket with the folded piece of paper Frederiks had given her, listing Charlie’s friends. ‘One more thing: Rory Millar, he’s in this house, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, why do you ask?’

‘I saw his father today, David Millar. He seemed to think his son was upset about something. How is he?’

‘All the boys in the house have been unsettled by what has happened, Inspector Hunter. Rory has always been sensitive, so perhaps it’s distressed him more than most,’ Frederiks replied carefully. He stood up and ushered Jazz towards the door. ‘If I can be of any further help, please let me know.’ The false charm had returned.

‘Yes, can you have Rory Millar present in your sitting room tomorrow morning at eight thirty? Thank you, Mr Frederiks, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

As she left the building Jazz heard a loud bell ring and children started to pour out of the buildings around Chapel Lawn. She walked round Fleat House to find the back entrance. She turned the handle, but found it locked.

Jazz checked her watch as she walked back to the classroom and DS Miles. It was five thirty, time for a debrief and then home.

Detective Sergeant Roland was packing his briefcase and making to leave when Jazz arrived.

‘Can you spare me two minutes to talk me through what Matron had to say when you interviewed her?’ Jazz asked, perching on the edge of her desk.

‘Of course, Ma’am.’ Roland retrieved his notebook from his briefcase, checked the contents, then cleared his throat. ‘As she may have told you earlier, she was not in the house on the night of the incident. It was her evening off.’

‘Where was she?’

‘I was just coming to that. She went to a choir concert in the chapel, which started at seven thirty and finished at nine. I saw the school chaplain as I was walking back across here and he corroborated the fact that he saw her entering the chapel, and then leaving. He stands by the door to meet and greet, you see,’ he added.