‘Do you think your sister loved him?’

‘I suppose so. I don’t know. We never talked about things like that.’

I had deliberately used the past tense and Lisa hadn’t contradicted me. She too had decided that Cecily was no longer alive.

‘What about you and Stefan?’ I asked.

‘What about us?’

‘Tell me why you really fired him.’

It took her a few moments to make up her mind. Then she came out with it. ‘I had sex with him a few times because – why not? He was good-looking and he was single and he didn’t hold back, let me tell you! He was also a criminal with absolutely nothing going for him and if it hadn’t been for me, he’d have been out on the street. So maybe you could say he was just returning a favour.

‘But I never coerced him and if you’re suggesting that I fired him because he wouldn’t come into my bed any more, then you can get the hell out of the hotel and I don’t care if you know who killed Frank Parris or not. Stefan Codrescu did what I told him to. That was part of the fun of it. I only had to snap my fingers and he’d come running. But unfortunately, whatever you may say, he was the one stealing money – not Natasha – and that was why I couldn’t keep him here. The hotel mattered more to me.’

She stood up, the chair legs scraping against the floor.

‘You’ve got today and tomorrow morning, Susan. Then I don’t want to see you again.’ She couldn’t resist one last parting shot. ‘Checkout is at twelve.’

Eloise Radmani

I wasn’t sorry that Lisa Treherne had more or less fired me. I wanted to get back to Andreas and if I did have to leave England without solving anything, she had given me an excuse. I needed to talk to him. Were we still together? That was the question that most troubled me – certainly more than the small matter of who had killed Frank Parris eight years before.

I had less than forty-eight hours before my forced exodus from Branlow Hall. How was I to use them?

Before Lisa had arrived at my table along with her anger and her evident sexual frustration, I had been writing a list of leads I might follow and once I was on my own I took out my notebook and looked at them again. I had a lot to do and very little time.

My first priority was to visit Stefan Codrescu at HMP Wayland. There was obviously a great deal he could tell me, starting with his memories of the night of the murder, his real relationship with Lisa, everything he had seen and heard, who had access to his room and, crucially, why he had confessed. But it might be weeks or even months before he replied to my letter and I simply couldn’t wait that long.

Then there was Leo, the rent boy who had ‘known’ both Frank Parris and Alan Conway – I use that word in the biblical sense. If he was dead, as Alan’s dedication suggested, then how had he died? And why had the book been dedicated to him in the first place? It was clear that he hadn’t been Frank’s life partner, just one of many, available at a price.

I needed to go back to Martin and Joanne Williams, who remained the only couple with a straightforward motive for the murder. I had thought them both remarkably creepy when I met them, but I now realised that they had told me an obvious lie. I should have spotted it when I spoke to them. It was Aiden who had actually given me the information that incriminated them and Lawrence had repeated it in his long email. Martin had come to Branlow Hall on the day of Frank’s death. He had told me that without knowing he had done so.

I still hadn’t spoken to George Saunders, the head teacher who had originally been allocated room 12 in the Moonflower Wing, nor to Eloise Radmani, Roxana’s nanny and, perhaps, Aiden’s acolyte. I also wanted to track down Alan’s wife, Melissa. She had been living right next to the hotel when the murder took place. She could have strolled in at any time of the night without being seen.

And finally there was Wilcox, the name that Sajid Khan had accidentally mentioned to me when I saw him in Framlingham. I had managed to track him down and although he had nothing to do with the case, he was still a priority. I intended to deal with him that same afternoon.

I finished my breakfast and headed back to my room. But as I came out of the entrance hall, I noticed Eloise Radmani walking through the reception area with a basket of linen. Evidently, she was using the hotel laundry as an annex to Branlow Cottage. She saw me and turned away in the hope of getting out before I could stop her, but I wasn’t going to let her escape. I hurried after her and caught her at the back door.

I quickly reminded myself of what I knew. Eloise came from Marseille. She had arrived at Branlow Hall in 2009, a couple of months after Roxana was born and a full nine months after the death of Frank Parris. Before that, she had been a student in London where she had met her husband, who had subsequently died of AIDS. The first time we met, she had looked at me as if I were the devil. She was still far from welcoming, dressed in a muddy blue T-shirt under a loose-fitting jacket, adding a vague splash of colour to her palette of black and grey.

‘Good morning,’ I said, trying to be friendly.

‘Hello.’ She scowled.

‘I’m Susan. We met briefly outside the cottage. I wasn’t able to explain to you why I’m here.’

‘Mr MacNeil has told me.’ She said ‘mister’ and not ‘monsieur’ but her French accent was still on the edge of parody. ‘You are trying to help find Cecily.’

‘That’s right. Is there any news? I was in London yesterday … ’

She shook her head. ‘There is still nothing.’

‘It must be awful for you.’

She relaxed a little but her eyes were still wary. ‘It is very difficult. Cecily was kind to me. She made me part of the family. And it is particularly hard for Roxana. All the time she is sad. She doesn’t understand what is happening.’

‘You’ve been with the family for a while.’

‘Yes.’

‘When did you last see Cecily?’

‘Why are you asking me these questions?’

‘Lawrence and Pauline have asked me to find out what happened. I’ve talked to everyone. You don’t mind, do you?’ I was challenging her deliberately, wondering what it was she had to hide.

She understood. Briefly, she shook her head. ‘Of course I don’t mind answering your questions but there is nothing I can tell you … ’

‘So when did you last see Cecily?’

‘It was on the day that she died. Just after lunchtime. I had to take Roxana to the doctor in Woodbridge. She was not well. She had … you know … something with the stomach. Cecily told me she was going to take the dog for a walk. We spoke briefly in the kitchen of the house and that was the last time I saw her.’

‘You took the evening off.’

‘Yes. Inga from the hotel looked after Roxona.’

‘Where did you go?’

There was that flash of anger which I recognised from our first meeting. ‘What business is it for you?’

‘I’m just trying to piece things together.’

‘I went to the cinema in Aldeburgh.’

‘What did you see?’

‘What does it matter? A French film! How dare you ask these questions? Who do you think you are?’

I waited for her to calm down. She wanted to continue on her way but I stood my ground. ‘What are you afraid of, Eloise?’ I asked.

She blinked at me and I was astonished to see that suddenly she was close to tears. ‘I am afraid that Cecily is dead. I am afraid that the little girl has lost her mother. I am afraid Mr MacNeil will be left on his own. And you! You come here and you pretend that this is all a policier – a detective novel. You know nothing of this family and you know nothing of me and of my struggles.’

‘You lost your husband.’

If she hadn’t been holding the laundry basket, she might have hit me. I saw her fists tighten on the plastic handles. ‘Lucien was studying to be an architect,’ she said. Her voice was husky now. ‘He would have been a great architect. He had ideas – you would not believe! And do you know how hard I worked to support him? I washed dishes. I cleaned offices. I was the receptionist for an advertising agency and then I went to Harrods and I sold men’s clothes. I did it all for him and then he was killed by your precious NHS who gave him the wrong blood and when he died they gave me no compensation. Nothing. He was everything to me and they killed him.’

‘I’m sorry.’

I noticed two guests coming down the stairs on their way out for the day. I wondered what they would have thought if they had overheard our conversation. It wasn’t the sort of thing you would have expected in a country hotel.

‘Why does nobody leave me alone?’ Eloise went on. ‘First the police, then you! Aiden had nothing to do with the death of his wife. I tell you that from my heart. He is a good man and Roxana adores him.’

‘What do you think happened to Cecily?’