‘Yes, we know, Sir,’ said Miles. ‘We’re here about an old friend of Corin’s, who has recently died. The coroner has confirmed it was suicide, but because we believe his death may be linked to a current murder investigation, we needed to speak to you about your brother.’

‘I see.’ Edward sighed. ‘Who was the friend?’

‘Hugh Daneman,’ said Jazz.

‘Right,’ Edward nodded. ‘Yes, they were . . . close friends.’

‘Then the first question, Sir, has to be whether you were aware of an unusually intimate relationship between them.’

‘Good Lord, yes. Of course I was, as were the whole family.’ Edward stared at them. ‘You could say Hugh Daneman was part of the reason why I ended up living in this mausoleum of a house and spending my life trying to keep the damned place going. Corin was my older brother. By rights, he should have inherited the estate. Did you know that?’

‘Yes, Sir, we did,’ Jazz replied kindly.

‘Not that one can blame others for one’s mistakes, but Corin’s peccadillos certainly rebounded on me.’ Edward Conaught sighed. ‘Corin started experimenting with drugs and sex at Oxford. Subsequently, my father disinherited him just before he died.’

‘So you remember Hugh Daneman from that time?’

‘Oh yes. Hugh followed him around like a lovestruck child. Corin was obviously fond of Hugh, but I think, for Hugh, the relationship meant much more.’

‘The information I’ve gathered suggests that Hugh was asked to leave his lecturing position at Oxford because of his unsuitable liaison with your brother,’ added Jazz.

‘It wouldn’t surprise me. But what I do know is, whatever the nature of their relationship, when Corin was in trouble with drugs and drink, Hugh helped him through. He moved in with Corin, into the cottage I’d given him on the estate after he was sent down. Hugh did his utmost to nurse Corin through, but I’m afraid he was beyond help. He died after taking a lethal cocktail of heroin and alcohol. Poor chap, such a waste. He was only twenty-six.’ Edward paused. ‘One way and another, I sometimes wonder whether this family is cursed.’

‘Why do you say that, Sir?’ queried Miles.

‘Well, another tragedy associated with this family occurred only last week. You say Daneman took his own life . . . was he depressed?’

‘We don’t know at present, but if I could ask you, Sir, to keep this information to yourself until we are surer of the circumstances, I’d be grateful.’ Jazz smiled.

‘Hugh was still working at St Stephen’s.’ It was not a question, but a statement.

‘Yes, he was.’

Edward stared at her through grey, intelligent eyes. ‘Are you not releasing this information because you believe it might have something to do with Charlie’s death?’

‘You’ve read about his death in the newspaper, have you, Sir?’ asked Miles.

Edward Conaught gave a grim chuckle. ‘Yes, but that’s not the way I discovered he was dead. Charlie Cavendish is my nephew.’

‘Your nephew?’ Jazz was astounded.