I wondered why Lisa hadn’t mentioned that she’d told Stefan to leave. What had she said over dinner? ‘We should have fired him right at the start.’ Maybe she was implying that she had, actually, fired him later, but it seemed to me that she had deliberately avoided mentioning it and that was strange. Apart from anything else, it made it more likely that he would have been tempted to steal from the guests, knowing that he no longer had a job. I’d have thought she would want me to know that.

‘Did you see Frank Parris again?’ I asked.

‘No. I was with Cecily until eight thirty. Then we went to the party. Then we went to bed.’

A thought occurred to me. ‘Shouldn’t you have slept apart? On the night before your wedding?’

‘Why would we want to do that? It was a traditional wedding in lots of ways. That was what Cecily wanted. But we didn’t do a hen night or a stag night. And we certainly weren’t going to sleep in separate rooms.’

I remembered something that Aiden had just told me. ‘You said there were ups and downs. What exactly did you mean?’

‘Well, the murder was a pretty big fucking down if you want the truth … ’

‘What were the others?’

‘You really want to know? They didn’t matter.’

‘Everything matters. You never know what’s going to be relevant.’

He sighed. ‘Well, they were just little things. The sort of stuff that can happen at any wedding. First of all, the marquee was late. It didn’t arrive until after lunch on the Friday and they had to work all afternoon to get it up. One of the bridesmaids got sick and had to cancel. Cecily thought that was bad luck. And then she got upset because she’d lost a pen that she was going to have with her when we got married in the rose garden.’

‘A pen?’

‘It belonged to her dad. He collects antique fountain pens. He never stopped going on about it on the day. He’d only just bought it from a dealer in Snape – it was brand new, unused. And it was blue.’

‘I’m sorry?’ I didn’t get it.

‘It was old but it was also new. It was borrowed and it was blue!’

‘Of course.’ I felt like an idiot.

‘Anyway, she couldn’t find it. Later on we thought Stefan might have nicked it, but there were other things too. A whole box of wine glasses got broken. The cake was wrong. Why am I even telling you this? It was a wedding just like any other.’

‘Except someone got killed.’

‘Yes.’ That sobered him. ‘It should have been the happiest day of my life,’ he said. ‘We got married at midday, in the garden. It wasn’t a religious service; neither of us believes in God. Drinks started at about a quarter to one. And then just as we were sitting down for lunch, one of the hotel maids – a woman called Natasha M?lk – came out screaming that someone was dead and that was the end of it. That was the end of my wedding.’ He emptied his glass, then pushed it away as if to indicate that he wasn’t having any more. ‘I loved Cecily more than you can begin to imagine. I still love her. She’s smart and beautiful and she’s considerate and she puts up with me. We have a wonderful daughter. And now this has happened and it’s like my whole life has turned into a fucking nightmare.’

Just then, a car pulled up in the drive, a silver VW Golf Estate. I saw the nanny driving. Roxana was strapped into the back. The car stopped. The nanny got out and Bear, the golden retriever, jumped out too. This, of course, was the dog that had barked in the night. He must have been quite a puppy then. Now he was old, overweight and slow, bear-like in a meandering way.

‘Do you mind if we pick this up another time?’ Aiden asked.

‘Of course.’

‘How long are you planning to stay?’

It was a good question. I didn’t really know. ‘Perhaps another week,’ I said.

‘Thank you. Thank you for trying to help.’

So far I had done nothing.

I left Aiden MacNeil in the kitchen and showed myself out. As I opened the front door, Roxana ran past me, eager to see her father, not even noticing I was there. She was a very pretty girl with a dark complexion and deep brown eyes. He swept her into his arms.

‘How’s my girl?’

‘Daddy!’

‘Where have you been?’

‘We went to the park. Has Mummy come home?’

‘Not yet, baby. They’re still looking … ’

Once outside, I found myself face to face with the nanny, Eloise, who was carrying a blanket and a picnic hamper. For a moment we stood there, unsure which one of us should get out of the other’s way.

She was furious. In a way it was a repeat of what had happened that morning with Joanne Williams – yet this was different. The emotion coming from her was so strong, so pronounced, that I was actually quite shocked. And it was coming out of nowhere. The two of us hadn’t even met. I have described Eloise as dark and slim, but she was also wraith-like, vengeful, like something out a Greek tragedy. Even on this bright summer’s day, she was dressed in shades of grey. She had jet black hair with a silver-grey streak down one side; less Mary Poppins, more Cruella de Vil.

‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘I’m a friend of the family. I’ve been asked to help.’

‘We don’t need help. We just need to be left alone.’ She had a French accent that belonged in an art-house film. Her eyes locked on to mine.

I brushed past her and walked back towards the hotel. When I was some distance away, I turned back to take a last look at the house. She was still there, standing on the doorstep, watching me, warning me not to come back.

Contacts

From: Craig Andrews <[email protected]>

Sent: 20 June 2016 at 14:03

To: Susan Ryeland <[email protected]>

Subject: RE: Stefan Codrescu

Hi Susan

Surprised to get your email. I see you’re using a new email address. Is that in Greece? I was really sorry to hear what happened. Actually, what did happen? Everyone has got different stories. All I know is that I’m sad I don’t see you any more. I used to enjoy our long sessions with Pringles and Prosecco!

Did you see my new book in the ST top ten? Well, for one week only, but they can still put it on the cover. It’s called Marking Time. (Yes – I know. Always ‘Time’ in the title, and it’s the same character, Christopher Shaw … Hodder like to keep me in my comfort zone.)

Stefan Codrescu is being held at HMP Wayland, which is in Norfolk. If you want to meet him, you’ll need to get his permission or perhaps you can talk to his brief. I checked him out on the Internet. Are you interested in the murder? I’d love to know what you’re up to. Do give me a shout.

Look after yourself.

Craig

PS If you’re in town and you need somewhere to stay, let me know. I’m on my own at the moment and there’s plenty of room. X

*

Stefan Codrescu

HMP Wayland

Thompson Road

Griston

Thetford IP25 6RL

20 June 2016

Dear Stefan,

You and I have never met but my name is Susan Ryeland and I used to work in publishing. I was recently approached by Lawrence and Pauline Treherne who are the owners of Branlow Hall, where I understand you once worked. As you may have seen in the newspapers, their daughter, Cecily, has disappeared and they are very concerned. They think I may be able to help.

The reason they came to me is that my most famous writer was a man called Alan Conway and he wrote a book about Branlow Hall and what happened there eight years ago. Alan is now dead and I can’t talk to him, but it seems there may be something in his book that is connected to Cecily Treherne. It may also be relevant to you and to your conviction.

I would very much like to meet you as soon as possible. As I understand it, I can only come to HMP Wayland if you put me on your visiting list. Would you be able to do that? If you want to reach me, you can call me on 07710 514444 or write to me at Branlow Hall.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Best wishes,

Susan Ryeland

*

From: Susan Ryeland <[email protected]>

Sent: 20 June 2016 at 14:18

To: James Taylor <[email protected]>

Subject: Alan Conway

Dear James

It’s been a long time since we saw each other and I hope you haven’t changed your email address. How are you? The last time we met was a very drunken dinner at the Crown in Framlingham and you told me you were going back to drama school. Did that ever happen? Should I have seen your name in lights by now?

You’re probably wondering why I’m contacting you. It’s a long story but somehow I’ve found myself involved with Alan Conway once again.

He wrote a book called Atticus Pünd Takes the Case – this was before the two of you became partners and, of course, before you turned up as Pünd’s assistant! It seems that he may have based the book on a real-life story that took place in Suffolk, at a hotel called Branlow Hall. Did he ever mention that name to you? A man called Stefan Codrescu was arrested for murder but it’s just possible that he wasn’t the real culprit.

I know that Alan kept a lot of notes. I remember going through his study with you when I was looking for information about Magpie Murders. I’m assuming that you inherited all his notebooks and things when you took over Abbey Grange and although you may have put the whole lot in a skip, if you have kept anything, it might be helpful.

You can contact me on this email address or on my phone: 07710 514444. It would be good to see you anyway. I’m assuming you’re in London. Right now I’m in Suffolk, but I can drop down any time.

Love,

Susan (Ryeland)

Fri 20 June, 14:30

Hi Lionel. I’m sending this