‘Would that be Frank Heywood?’

‘That’s absolutely right. Yes. He was the drama critic on the same newspaper as her. She took over from him when he died a few years later. He was able to give her a great many insights into the people of Moxham, many of whom he knew socially. This is something for which I will never forgive him.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Bad Boys was nothing less than a complete travesty of the truth. It turned my parents into the villains of the piece. The court made it absolutely clear that Stephen had been completely under the thumb of the older boy. Their respective sentences demonstrated exactly that. But the way Harriet shaped her narrative, it could have been my parents who were responsible for Alden’s death. They were too busy with their own jet-set lifestyle. Stephen was neglected but he was also spoilt. He was the child they didn’t want, which was why they were so willing to turn a blind eye to his delinquent behaviour.

‘She didn’t stop there. It was all set out, chapter by chapter. They’d antagonised the villagers. They were arrogant and selfish. They had no respect for their neighbours. The footpath, the fête … she paraded all these trivial arguments as if they actually amounted to anything and she made it seem that the death of Major Alden was nothing less than a logical conclusion. It was a hatchet job, nothing more, nothing less – written cleverly enough to keep her on the right side of libel. My parents were still together when the book came out and maybe there was a chance they would have muddled through. Harriet Throsby destroyed them. I blame her at least in part for the breakdown of their relationship. You could say that I lost a mother and a brother thanks to her.’

He spread his hands, signalling that he had little more to add.

‘I hated that woman. I won’t deny it. Hatred isn’t an emotion that I would normally entertain, but I believe that Harriet Throsby relished what she was doing. To use what was, at the end of the day, a tragic accident, a childish prank that went wrong, as an excuse to make money? To subvert or – at the very best – simplify the truth to sell books? I don’t know how she lived with herself and I’d almost go as far as saying that whoever killed her did the world a favour.’

He smiled for the first time. But there was no warmth in it.

‘I’m aware that I may have incriminated myself in your eyes,’ he said. ‘Do you want to know where I was at the time of her death? I believe the police are saying that it was around ten o’clock in the morning.’

‘It would help,’ Hawthorne said.

‘I went to the Vaudeville at half past nine. I had to go through some papers which Ahmet had left there. He was given one of the dressing rooms as a temporary office. Then I came here, arriving just before half past ten.’