As she got into her car, her mobile phone rang.

‘Roland here, Ma’am. I’ve just had a tooth out.’ His voice was muffled.

‘Oh dear.’ Jazz gritted her own teeth to calm her irritation. ‘Where are you now?’

‘Outside the dentist in my car, awaiting instructions.’

‘Go home, Roland. Take some painkillers and go to bed. But can you make sure you get a few of your boys down to the school? Plain-clothed, please, and low-key, so as not to alarm the inhabitants. Station an officer outside Fleat House. He’s to check everyone coming in and out. I want someone there twenty-four seven.’

‘Yes, Ma’am. Anything else?’

‘No. I’ll be in touch tomorrow. Hope your tooth sorts itself out.’ Jazz knew she sounded insincere but couldn’t help it.

‘Thanks, Ma’am. Bye.’

She switched off her mobile and let out a small groan of frustration. She started the engine and pulled away from the kerb.

Turning her thoughts back to her two dead bodies, she mused on any possible connection as she drove through Foltesham towards the coast road. As she negotiated the narrow streets of Cley, Jazz was aware of a familiar figure getting out of a Mercedes estate on the other side of the road. Jazz slowed to a crawl and realised the woman was Adele Cavendish, Charlie’s mother. Jazz watched as Adele unloaded a holdall and a couple of supermarket carrier bags from the boot, then disappeared out of sight down a narrow lane.

Recording the event as odd, Jazz picked up speed and headed for home.

Chapter Ten

The next morning, Jazz was in London by ten o’clock. She’d called Miles, conveniently back in London, who was meeting her at Daneman’s Kensington flat.

Having not returned to the city since her flight from her career and her husband seven months ago, she’d felt a sense of trepidation as she’d driven along the Embankment, then past the Yard itself.

She felt so removed from it, from her old life, yet here she was in town, on CID business.

Miles was parked outside the flat in a custard-yellow Astra.

‘Morning, Ma’am. Good journey?’

‘Yes, fine.’ She grabbed her briefcase and climbed out. ‘Love the car,’ she nodded. ‘Very cool.’

‘You mean my banana split? It was all the Foltesham rental people had left, apparently.’

‘Particularly good for a spot of discreet tailing, I’d say,’ she joked. ‘Did you check the Land Registry to make sure Daneman owns this flat?’

‘Yes, he took over the deeds from a Phyllida Daneman in nineteen sixty-nine. When I checked her out, seems she was his aunt, and that was the year she died. He obviously inherited the place. Couldn’t find any living relatives on the records, though.’

‘Our Hugh’s turning out to be a bit of an enigma. I found the address of a solicitor in one of his drawers. I can only presume that’s where his will is lodged. Jazz handed him a piece of paper. ‘Get on to them first thing Monday, will you? Inform them of Hugh’s death. It’ll be interesting to see who he’s left this to. Probably worth a fortune now.’ Jazz stared up at the Edwardian red-bricked mansion block. ‘Come on, let’s go in.’