‘Every writer is different,’ I said. ‘But they don’t steal, exactly. They absorb. It’s such a strange profession, really, living in a sort of twilight between the world they belong to and the world they create. On the one hand, they’re monstrous egotists. Self-confidence, self-examination, self-hatred even … but it’s all about self. All those hours on their own! And yet at the same time, they’re genuinely altruistic. All they want to do is please other people. I’ve often thought it must demand a sort of deficiency to be a writer. There’s something missing in your life so you fill it with words. God knows, I couldn’t do it, as much as I love reading. That’s why I became an editor. I get all the rewards and the excitement of creating a new book but my job’s more fun.’

I sipped my drink. Lars had given me a single malt from the Isle of Jura. I could taste the peat.

‘Mind you, Alan Conway was like no writer I ever met,’ I continued. ‘He didn’t like writing – or at least, he didn’t like the books that had made him successful. He thought detective fiction was beneath him. That’s one of the reasons he put you and this hotel into his novel. I think he enjoyed playing with you, turning you into Algernon, because to him the whole thing was just a game.’

‘What were the other reasons?’

‘I’ll tell you, although I’ve never told anyone else. He was already running out of ideas. It was as simple as that. He actually stole the plot of his fourth book, Night Comes Calling, from someone he taught on a writers’ course. I met them and I read their original manuscript. I think he came to Branlow Hall partly out of curiosity – he knew Frank Parris – but mainly because he was looking for inspiration for his next book.’

‘But somehow he found out who the real killer was. At least, that was what Cecily believed. Isn’t that what this is all about?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know, Aiden. He could have found something. But it’s equally possible that he wrote it without even knowing what he was doing. When Cecily read the book, a word or a description could have stirred up a memory or triggered an association that only she knew about. I mean, if Alan had worked out that Stefan Codrescu hadn’t killed Frank Parris, wouldn’t he have told someone? It wouldn’t have harmed his sales. It might even have helped them. What possible reason could he have had for keeping silent?’

‘But in that case, what did Cecily read? And what’s happened to her?’

I had no answer to that.

Behind the bar, Lars had been wiping a glass. He set it down and called out to us. ‘Last orders in five minutes, Mr MacNeil.’

‘That’s OK, Lars. I think we’re finished. You can start to close down now.’

‘I haven’t asked you about Cecily,’ I said. This was the conversation I was most nervous about but we seemed to be comfortable with each other and this had to be the right time. ‘What happened on that last day … ’

‘Wednesday.’ He spoke the single word in a low voice, gazing into his drink, and I felt a distinct change in the atmosphere between us as I moved into painful territory.

‘Do you mind talking about it?’

He hesitated. ‘I’ve already gone over it, again and again, with the police. I don’t see how it will help. It’s got nothing to do with you.’

‘That’s true. And I know it’s none of my business. But I’m worried about her too and if there’s anything you can remember, any small detail, even if you think it’s irrelevant, you never know … ’

‘All right.’ He called over to Lars. ‘Lars – I’ll have one more before you close.’ He glanced at me. ‘You?’

‘No. I’m OK, thanks.’

He steeled himself. ‘I don’t really know what to tell you, Susan. It was a very ordinary day. I mean, that’s the hell of it. It was just another Wednesday and I had absolutely no idea that my whole fucking life was about to be torn apart. That afternoon, Eloise took Roxie to the GP. It wasn’t anything very important – just a tummy upset.’

‘Tell me about Eloise.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘How long has she been with you?’

‘From the very start. She arrived after Roxie was born.’

‘Roxana’s a pretty name.’

‘Yes. Cecily chose it.’

‘So Eloise came to Suffolk the year after Frank Parris was killed?’

‘That’s right. Roxana was born in January 2009. She arrived a couple of months after that.’

‘Was she in England at the time of the murder?’

‘You don’t think she had anything to do with it, do you? I’m sorry, but that’s crazy. Eloise Radmani is from Marseille. She never knew Frank Parris. And actually how she got here is a very sad story. She was married. She met her husband in London – they were both students. But he died.’

‘What of?’

‘AIDS. He’d had a stomach ulcer and needed a blood transfusion. He was very unlucky. He died in France, but after that she decided to come back to England and joined a nanny agency.’

‘Which agency?’

‘Knightsbridge Knannies.’ He spelled out the second word so that I would get the joke.

I didn’t smile. I was still remembering the way Eloise had looked at me as I left the house – utterly vengeful. ‘So on the day Cecily disappeared, she took Roxana to the doctor.’

‘After lunch. Yes. I’d taken the dog out in the morning … just round the grounds. It was Cecily’s turn in the afternoon. She was in and out of the hotel during the day. We both were. It’s not too far to go.’

‘Did she talk about the book with you?’

‘No.’

‘Did you know that she’d sent a copy to her parents in the South of France?’

Aiden shook his head. ‘The police asked me that,’ he said. ‘Pauline told them about the telephone call. Of course she did. I mean, was it really a coincidence that on the Tuesday she rings her parents to tell them about this stupid novel and the very next day—’ He broke off and drank some of the vodka, the ice rattling against the side of the glass. ‘For what it’s worth, Detective Chief Superintendent Locke doesn’t think there’s any connection. His theory is that if Cecily was attacked, it was by someone completely random.’

‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t know. But the answer to your question is – no, she didn’t say anything about posting the book. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t take her seriously. Or maybe it was because she knew I’d never had any time for Stefan Codrescu, so she didn’t think I’d be interested.’ He reached out and closed the book. ‘It hurts me that she didn’t confide in me. It makes me feel responsible.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know why you’re asking me these questions. I don’t understand what you want to know!’ He stopped himself. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just very difficult.’ He finished his drink just as Lars brought over the last one he had ordered. He took it gratefully, pouring the contents into the glass he had just emptied. ‘The last time I saw her was about three o’clock in the afternoon,’ he said. ‘She took the VW. I went out about half an hour later in the Range Rover. I had to go over to Framlingham. I had a meeting with our solicitor, a man called Sajid Khan.’

It was funny the way Sajid Khan’s name kept cropping up. He was Alan Conway’s old solicitor. He had told the Trehernes where to find me. He was working for Martin and Joanne Williams. My sister, Katie, had used him. And now, on the day of Cecily’s disappearance, Aiden was telling me he’d been to see him too.

‘There were some papers to sign,’ he went on. ‘Nothing very important. And I had a few errands to run. Cecily had asked me to drop some clothes into the charity shop. She’s a big supporter of EACH.’

‘Each?’

‘East Anglia’s Children’s Hospices. There isn’t a branch in Woodbridge. I had to pick up a chair which we’d had reupholstered. I went to the supermarket too. I got home at fiveish. Maybe half past. I was surprised Cecily wasn’t there. Inga was making Roxie her tea. She comes in and helps sometimes.’

‘Where was Eloise?’

‘She had the evening off.’ He lifted his glass and emptied it. I did the same. ‘When Cecily still hadn’t got home at seven o’clock, I went looking for her in the hotel. Sometimes she’d work in the main office and lose track of the time. But she wasn’t there. Nobody had seen her. I still wasn’t too worried. I mean, this is Suffolk. Nothing much happens in Suffolk.’

Both Frank Parris and Alan Conway had been murdered in Suffolk, but I decided not to mention it.

‘I rang a few of her friends. I tried calling Lisa but I couldn’t get hold of her. I was thinking something might have happened to Bear. He’s getting on a bit and sometimes he has trouble with his hips. Anyway, at eight o’clock, when I still hadn’t heard from her, I made a decision and called the police.’

He fell silent. That had been when the long silence had begun.

I was trying to work out the timings. He’d left the hotel at approximately half past three. He was back sometime after five; maybe as late as five thirty. Framlingham was about twenty minutes from Woodbridge. That felt about right for a couple of errands and a meeting.

‘What time did you meet Sajid Khan?’ I asked.

He gave me a peculiar look and I knew I’d asked one question too many. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘I’m just trying to—’

But he didn’t let me finish. ‘You think I killed her, don’t you?’

‘No.’ I denied it but I didn’t sound convincing.