“It sounds consistent with DC Waterhouse,” said Proust impatiently. “Am I the only one who notices that all his quack profiles are thinly veiled descriptions of himself? Is it his secret ambition to get himself arrested for every murder we investigate?”

“Simon thinks that room, that . . . display, with the knife taped to his face and everything—it’s an invitation to misunderstand,” Sam said. “The killer’s saying, ‘Go on, prove to me that you can work me out—no one else has ever managed to.’ When we fail, he wins, because he’s outwitted us, and loses because all his worst fears are confirmed: no one gets him; no one cares enough to make the effort. That murder scene is likely to be the first public expression of his feelings for some time—maybe his whole life.”

“‘When we fail,’ Sergeant? Could you brainstorm titles for your autobiography some other time? I’d like you to pretend your motto is ‘When we succeed,’ at least until you retire.”

“Sir, I meant from the killer’s point of—”

“Shall we stop playing Simon Reckons and return to work?” the Snowman cut Sam off. “Who else hated Damon Blundy, apart from Bryn Gilligan, Rabbi Jacob Fedder, other Jews, some Muslims and a neighbor keen to protect her daughter’s earlobe?”

“Paula Riddiough, ex-Labour MP for Culver Valley East,” said Sam.

For whom Sellers had voted for reasons that had nothing to do with politics and everything to do with his pornographic fantasies about her, Gibbs remembered with a grin.

“Blundy laid into her in one of his columns for sending her son to a state school and the two of them quickly became well-known enemies,” Sam said.

Gibbs waited for Sellers to make a joke about laying Paula Riddiough, who was indisputably hot, and not only for an MP.

Nothing. Sellers hadn’t been himself for a while and seemed not to want to talk about it. “Just insist that he tells you,” Liv had said on the phone last night.

“You mean private school?” Proust asked Sam. “Blundy laid into Riddiough for sending her son to a private school?”

“No, she sent him to a state school,” said Sam.

“Isn’t that what good Labour MPs who believe in state education are supposed to do?”

“You can read the column if you want, sir—we’ve got the collected works of Damon Blundy next door. Riddiough comes from pots of money and went to Cheltenham Ladies’ College. Blundy accused her of culpable negligence with regard to her child’s future prospects, said she was one of the worst mothers in the UK. He called for social services to take her son into care.”

“On what grounds?” Proust sounded curious rather than shocked.