‘The body has been removed and the pathologist is promising to put Mr Daneman to the top of the queue. We can’t be sure until after the PM, but from what I saw, it was a straightforward case of suicide.’

‘Do you need further back-up?’ Norton asked.

‘The Norwich SOCOs are coming to give Cavendish’s study the once-over tomorrow morning. Not that there’ll be much left to find. The room has been cleaned since. They should have been called immediately after the incident.’

‘No one was aware at that point it was anything other than an accident.’

‘It just makes our job that bit harder, Sir. You know how crucial the first couple of days after a murder are.’

‘Murder?’

‘Sorry, Sir, jumping the gun there a little. But what with Hugh Daneman dead, it doesn’t take a genius to work out there’s something more to this than first met the eye.’

‘Do you think the two deaths are linked?’

‘It’s one hell of a coincidence if they’re not, but I won’t speculate until I have some facts. And they’re in pretty short supply just now. Anyway. I’ll send the SOCOs straight over to Hugh Daneman’s cottage once they’ve finished with Cavendish’s study.’

‘The big question is, how long can we keep this under wraps from the media? One death everyone so far assumes was accidental is troubling, but two will cause mass panic at the school and amongst the parents.’

‘At least Daneman didn’t die on the school premises.’

‘No, but if there is something sinister going on, we can’t have all those kids at risk, can we, Hunter?’

‘No. We need to get the PM report back on Daneman as soon as we can.’

‘Have you contacted the headmaster about Daneman?’ asked Norton.

‘Yes. I called him ten minutes ago. As you can imagine, he was very concerned. And that’s putting it mildly. I’m seeing him first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘Keep in touch, Hunter. Sorry to give you another death on your first day back on the job.’

Jazz could picture Norton smiling wryly. ‘Didn’t get home to paint the Mona Lisa after all, Sir.’

‘No. Goodnight, then.’

‘Night, Sir.’

Miles had come to a stop in front of her cottage. ‘Thanks for the lift. I would invite you in for a cup of coffee, but I’m bushed.’

‘You, Ma’am? Tired? Never.’

‘I’m sure I’ll get back in the swing shortly, but I’m for a bath and bed. Pick me up at seven tomorrow, will you?’

‘Will do. I’m off to explore the fleshpots of Foltesham.’ Miles winked at her as Jazz opened the passenger door.

‘Perhaps you could explore the particular fleshpot Charlie and his St Stephen’s cronies visited the night he died? Talk to the landlord, get some feedback.’

‘Tough call, Ma’am. Might have to down a couple of pints to blend in.’

‘Sure you’ll cope. See you at seven. Night.’

Jazz lay in the bath, mulling over the events of the day.

What if Hugh Daneman, unusually alone and in charge of Fleat House, had either mistakenly, or intentionally, substituted Charlie’s Epilim drugs with aspirin?