No response from Tasker. Gibbs felt awkward. It wasn’t up to him to answer. The silence around him thickened.

“Reuben?” said Jane hopefully.

Still nothing.

“Mr. Tasker,” Gibbs prompted him.

“Pardon? Sorry, I was just . . .”

Yeah, I know. You were staring at some sheets of black paper that you stuck to your window earlier.

“Did you want something, Jane?”

“Shall I go downstairs, and you’ll call me when you’re ready for hot drinks?” asked his wife. “Or shall I wait here?”

Tasker looked uneasy. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s up to you.” He sighed. “I mean . . . go downstairs. If we want a drink, we’ll come and sort ourselves out.”

Jane looked bereft.

Gibbs watched in horrified amazement, trying to work out how he’d explain this scene to Simon later.

She acts like the faithful servant of a man who doesn’t realize he has a servant, and doesn’t want one.

“Tell you what,” said Gibbs. “I’d quite like a cup of tea. I’ll come with you to make it.” He moved forward so that he was standing between Jane and her husband, so that she had no choice but to turn and head downstairs. “Back in a minute or two,” Gibbs told Tasker.

“Do you really want tea, or do you want to get my wife alone and ask her if I’m a murderer?”

“Both,” said Gibbs.

“Reuben didn’t kill anyone,” Jane said vehemently. “He and I were here on the day Damon Blundy died. Together, all the time. Why would Reuben kill the man who was responsible for his book sales tripling? You can’t buy publicity of the kind Blundy created for Reuben. Have you read Reuben’s books?”

“Jane, stop.”

“The Scotsman called his latest ‘unforgettable.’”

“Why would I kill the man responsible for tripling my sales?” said Tasker angrily. “Let’s see—because he kept saying my work was shit, perhaps? I didn’t kill him, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have had a valid motive if I had.”

“Of course,” Jane agreed eagerly, as if she hadn’t less than a minute ago suggested that her husband ought to be grateful to Damon Blundy. “Right.” She clapped her hands together, making Gibbs jump. “Tea!”

He followed her down the stairs. In the kitchen, there was a lopsided blue bookcase next to a red Aga that looked as if it had seen better days. Gibbs spotted a copy of Verity Hewson’s memoir, A Hole in the Stone, alongside biographies of more famous people: Julie Andrews, Margaret Thatcher, Stephen Fry. “I see you’ve read Damon Blundy’s ex-wife’s book,” he said. “Well, maybe you haven’t read it, but you’ve got it.”

“Hmm?” Jane filled the kettle with water. She seemed more relaxed now than she had upstairs.