James Caine.

He had been dressed for seduction, in some kind of silk bathrobe, wantonly open now, nothing underneath apart from tight white Hugo Boss briefs, his penis a modest indentation against the cotton, and although his face was unmarked there was a black halo of blood staining the carpet around his head.

The back of his skull had been smashed in.

He looked very debonair and very dead, like Hugh Hefner if some rabid Bunny had beaten Hef to death with a sharp object.

James Caine stared up and beyond me with his lifeless blue eyes, apparently totally fascinated by some fixed point in the ceiling, and as I moved a step closer I saw the sickening dent where his skull had been caved in just above his right ear. That side of his head was a mess. He had been hit more than once, clearly, and he had been hit when he was down, and he had been hit even as he was drawing his last breath. He had been killed in a frenzy.

Ginger found her voice. ‘Is he …?’

‘Oh yes,’ I said.

Then I was aware of the chaos around him. The room was not so neat after all. There was an ice bucket by his side, melting ice cubes scattered all around his silky bathrobe, and a bottle of Dom Perignon between bare hairy legs that were bent at an unnatural angle. The bottle was unbroken but its shield-shaped label was smeared with something. Hair, bone, blood. Maybe a little brain. I could not stop staring at the smeared label.

Ginger was on the phone.

I heard the voice at the other end, and it was as if I was waking up.

‘Emergency services? Which service do you require?’

I grabbed at Ginger’s wrist and pulled the phone away from her mouth. We could still hear the operator asking which service we required. I snatched Ginger’s phone and turned it off.

‘Are you fucking crazy, Tara?’

I prised the phone from her fingers. ‘Ginger? Listen to me. Please?’

‘Are you insane?’

She tried to take back her phone but I held it away from her.

We wrestled for a bit but she was far stronger than me and quickly reclaimed it, and then she stared at me, both of us gasping for air.

‘We have to tell them, Tara. You know we do. You’re in shock.’

‘Yes. Of course we do! I understand. But before we tell them, I have to tell Christian everything. Because the police, Ginger – they will want to know why we are here. It’s all going to come out now, isn’t it?’

She shook her head. She could not understand why we had to wait. I placed my hands on her phone, stopping her making the call.

‘Before we tell anyone, I have to tell Christian what happened in Tokyo. He’s going to find out now, Ginger. I know I can’t stop it all coming out. So I have to tell him about Caine, and how really sorry I am, and how much I love him. Please, Ginger!’