Score!

‘If Rannaldini was happy and excited at the moment of death, as the PM revealed,’ mused Karen, ‘the murderer must be someone he was thrilled to see.’

‘Which certainly wasn’t Rupert, Wolfie or Alpheus,’ chipped in Debbie, ‘but most likely Hermione, Bussage or Tab.’

‘We’ll wait for the DNA results before we tackle Tab again,’ said Portland, who didn’t want any more earache from Rupert.

DC Lightfoot, who’d fallen asleep with his head on the edge of Portland’s desk, was gently shaken awake and dispatched with DC Smithson to Rutminster Hall to try to find out if Alpheus and Mikhail had been telling porkies. Fanshawe and Debbie were given the task of re-interviewing Hermione and then Lysander on the timing of his and Rupert’s raid on Hangman’s Wood.

Gablecross and Karen, who were right at the bottom of the list for letting Tristan off the hook and hassling Taggie Campbell-Black, were allotted the dreary task of trailing over to Mallowfield to interview Rozzy’s feckless husband. Gablecross was in despair. Only Karen’s enterprise had proved Tristan’s innocence. His loathed rival, Fanshawe, was poised to make a strike and Margaret wasn’t speaking to him because he’d left the anniversary party so early.

As she had also refused to make him any breakfast, Gablecross popped into the Paradise village shop to buy several Yorkie bars to misery-eat on the way to Mallowfield. Ahead in the queue, he saw Little Cosmo Harefield shoving some photographs and a letter into a large brown envelope. As Cosmo stopped to rest the envelope on a pile of Rutminster Echos, Gablecross noticed he was addressing it to the editor of the Sun.

‘Please register and express this on my mother’s account,’ Cosmo told Eve, the proprietor, grandly.

‘What have you got there, sonny?’ demanded Gablecross.

‘Nothing,’ lied Little Cosmo.

‘Let me look.’ Grabbing Little Cosmo by his T-shirt, Gablecross relieved him of the envelope.

‘Gimme that, you bugger,’ hissed Little Cosmo, trying to knee Gablecross in the groin.

Two photographs got slightly torn in the scuffle, but were still clearly discernible as Hermione and Sexton on the job.

In custody, and possession of one of Gablecross’s Yorkie bars and a cup of black coffee, Little Cosmo thawed a fraction.

‘Obviously you were upset about your dad’s death.’

‘Very,’ sighed Cosmo.

His father, he grumbled, had divided his inheritance between Cecilia, his ex-wife, Cosmo and all his step-siblings, except Wolfie. This meant Little Cosmo only ended up with four million, which was quite insufficient, after estate duty, for a growing lad, particularly one intending to own racehorses. Cosmo had therefore decided to augment his income.

‘Give us a fag,’ he added, looking longingly at Gablecross’s pack.

Gablecross, however, was not going to risk it, in case Cosmo’s mother’s friend, the Chief Constable, walked in. He and Karen then learnt that on the night of Rannaldini’s murder, Hermione’s notion of ‘quality time’ had consisted of shoving Little Cosmo upstairs with 101 Dalmatians and a jar of humbugs. Regarding this as insufficient, Cosmo, who had inherited his father’s specialist interest, had borrowed his mother’s camera and crept across the lawn to the summerhouse. Peering through the windows, he had discovered and photographed his mother and Sexton romping on their carpet of lady’s bedstraw. Cosmo liked Sexton and thought he would suit very well as a stepfather. Luckily for his mother and Sexton, Cosmo had taken a mid-shoot break for sloe gin and smoked salmon, and unintentionally recorded both ten twenty-five and ten forty on the large clock on the summerhouse wall.

Although this gave Hermione a vagina-tight alibi, Gablecross had ticked off Little Cosmo roundly for shopping his mother at a time of mourning.

Hermione, who’d just endured another most unchivalrous grilling from Fanshawe and Debbie, was extremely displeased to see DS Gablecross and Karen.

‘I didn’t do it, Timothy.’ She opened her eyes very wide. ‘Why should I want to murder Little Cosmo’s father?’

She might, however, feel like murdering Little Cosmo, said Gablecross, spreading the photographs on the table in front of her.

For a moment Hermione was lost for words, then her face lit up. ‘But, Timothy, these are quite beautiful. Far more flattering than anything Valentin or Oscar could produce. I never knew my son was so talented. They compare very favourably with the work my good friend Patrick Lichfield did for the Unipart calendar. Such a lovely texture.’ Hermione ran her finger over her naked body. ‘And I look so fragile beside Sexton’s manliness. Even in his birthday suit, Timothy, you can tell an Old Etonian by his commanding air.’

Hermione was so carried away, she didn’t notice Karen doubled up with helpless laughter as she fled from the room. Gablecross, chewing his lip, just managed to keep a straight face. ‘But Cosmo was sending these pictures to the Sun, Dame Hermione.’