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‘Who found it?’ I asked.

‘I’m not sure that’s relevant,’ Blakeney replied.

‘Well, where was it?’

‘In the drawer beside your bed.’

‘Is that why you offered to clean up my flat? So you could search it? Is that even legal?’

We were no longer in the house. Blakeney’s declaration had shocked me so much that I’d felt a physical need to get out. I would have preferred to go on my own, but I had to know more and when he’d suggested coming with me, I hadn’t complained. I’d turned into Alice down the rabbit hole, but instead of white rabbits and playing cards, I’d been sucked into a nightmare landscape – more Hieronymus Bosch than Lewis Carroll. It was impossible for Eliot’s watch to have been found in my bedroom. It was impossible for a scrap of his bloodstained jacket to have wedged itself into the dented grille of my MG. Both of these things had happened.

And here I was, walking round the grounds of with a police officer who had been friendly enough the last time we’d met but who now seemed determined to put me in jail. I had no-one to turn to. My sister couldn’t help. Should I be calling a lawyer? I needed fresh air and sunshine to clear my head.

. Ally Pally to anyone who lived nearby. It had been built on a hilltop overlooking London and opened to the public in 1873 – ‘The Palace of the People’. It had burned down sixteen days later. It was rebuilt, burned down a second time in 1980 and was now something of a white elephant, although a handsome one with a theatre and an ice rink. In a way, it reminded me of my career. That had repeatedly burned down too.

We were walking through the grounds. The sky was clear and I could see all the way to south London, almost as if I was in a plane. The park was still busy. We passed a group of teenagers, about a dozen of them, playing football with piled-up clothes used as goalposts. A couple came the other way, pushing a pram. A man threw a ball for his dog. Here and there, people sat on the grass, enjoying the late-afternoon warmth. I was surrounded by the normal world but completely separated from it.

‘If that’s what you think, I’m disappointed, Susan.’ Blakeney had taken his time to reply to my last point. ‘If I’d wanted to search your flat, I’d have got a warrant. I was just trying to help you. But if you really are going to suggest I acted illegally, then I’ll have to remind you that you had been informed of the reason we entered the premises and if you look at Section Nineteen of the 1984 Police and Criminal Evidence Act, you’ll find – and I quote – that “the constable may seize anything which is on the premises if he has reasonable grounds for believing that it is evidence in relation to an offence which he is investigating”.’

‘Why only he ?’ I growled.

‘Good point. But this was 1984.’

I wanted to be angry with him but couldn’t. ‘Just tell me,’ I said. ‘If you believed I ran Eliot over because he insulted me and then stole his watch and hid it in my bedroom, you’d already have arrested me. What do you think is going on?’

We walked on in silence. I glanced at a father flying a kite with his children and not for the first time, I thought of Mary Poppins. I could see Blakeney struggling with himself, deciding how much to tell me. The sun was dipping and suddenly I felt a strange sense of peace. I trusted him. He was like one of those Edwardian heroes created by Erskine Childers or John Buchan, dragged into an adventure without quite wanting to be there.

‘I’m not sure what I believe,’ he began at last. ‘For what it’s worth, my DS thinks I must have a soft spot for you or something, and I won’t even start with DC Wardlaw. We have motive, timing, opportunity and solid evidence, and there is absolutely no way that you and I should be walking in a park together. It may not mean very much to you, especially after what you just said, but I’m putting my neck on the line for you and if it does turn out that you ran over Eliot Crace, I’ll be saying goodbye to my career.’

I didn’t know how to respond. It had never occurred to me that he’d been defending me, even putting his own prospects at risk. He was a decent man and I was beginning to wish I’d handled this conversation differently.

‘So let me tell you why I’m sticking up for you.

‘First of all, this sort of crime is vanishingly rare. There was a kids’ writer who got drugged and suffocated by her partner – it was a nasty story – a while ago, and there’s always Christopher Marlowe, I suppose, but, by and large, famous authors don’t get murdered. Can you name another? We’re none of us used to handling this sort of situation.

‘And then you need look at what modern police officers have to deal with—’

I was about to interrupt, but he stopped me.

‘Let me explain this my own way. All right?

‘I joined the police thirty-two years ago and nothing is the same. The cutbacks have been a big part of the problem. You know the old complaint. We’re not on the streets any more. Hardly a surprise when six hundred police stations in the UK have been shut down since 2010 – and there were only nine hundred to begin with. We’ve had our own self-inflicted wounds too. Scandals involving racism and sexism and all the rest of it. The result is that people no longer have much confidence in us. Trust and respect … all that’s gone.

‘At the same time, the whole landscape of crime has changed. The Landscape of Criminal Investigation ! That was the book Atticus Pünd was writing – but what would he do if he walked into a crime scene nowadays? Think about it. The victim’s wearing a smartwatch. She’s got a smart TV, a laptop, a tablet, a smartphone, an Oyster card. Even the thermostat is controlled by Wi-Fi. And every one of these is a line of inquiry. Ninety per cent of reported crime now has a digital element, and don’t get me started on cybercrime! Social engineering, credit card fraud, old ladies being done out of their life savings.

‘The point that I’m trying to make is that what you’re involved in is an anomaly and it’s hardly surprising that some of my colleagues want to deal with it as fast as they can. Basically, my DS is right. I should have arrested you the moment that Rolex turned up. Be honest with yourself, Susan. Do you think there’s a jury in the country that wouldn’t convict you?’

‘Then why haven’t you?’ I asked. ‘Arrested me?’

‘Two reasons. I know you – a little. I don’t believe you killed Eliot Crace. And you were right, just a moment ago. Even if you had killed him, there’s no way you’d have stolen his watch. That’s rubbish. You might like to know that we found some of your DNA on the strap – but no fingerprints. What does that tell you?’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t have the faintest idea.’

‘Well, I’ll help you a little. We also found traces of sodium lauryl sulphate and calcium carbonate.’

I shook my head. ‘Maybe I’m being slow today, but I’m none the wiser.’

‘They’re ingredients used in the manufacture of toothpaste. What it means is that you never touched the watch – not unless you were wearing gloves when you ran Eliot over. But whoever planted it in your bedroom must have rubbed your toothbrush against the strap. They hoped to transfer some of your DNA—’

‘—but they also transferred elements of the toothpaste.’

‘That’s what I think.’

‘And do you have any idea who this mysterious person might be?’

‘That’s why I came to see you today, Susan. I think you’re better placed to find the answer than us. It would seem that somebody very close to Eliot Crace believes you were responsible for his death. They wrote the word “KILLER” on your bedroom wall. Who might that be? Eliot had a wife and a sister. Gillian Crace might have been angry with him, but she didn’t necessarily want him dead. He had a brother who had shared the whole experience of growing up in Marble Hall. His father, Edward Crace, wasn’t at the party, but he’s been unable to provide us with an alibi for seven o’clock that evening until the following day. The list goes on.’

‘So how do you think I can help you?’

‘You’ve spent the last few weeks rummaging around in the Crace Estate. You’ve been rubbing a lot of people up the wrong way. Has anyone threatened you? Has anyone said anything that might lead you to think they would want to hurt you? And here are a few questions. Somebody reported seeing your car in Trafalgar Square. They identified part of your registration number. So if it wasn’t a random member of the public, ask yourself this. Who knew you drove a red MG and might have got close enough to see the number plate? You drove to Marble Hall. You visited Dr Lambert. Was there anybody else?

‘Also, they must have found out you were going to be away for much of the day before they broke in. You’ve already said that you didn’t tell anyone you were going to HMP Belmarsh, but was there any unusual activity around your house that day? Could someone have been waiting until you left? And that broken garden door of yours. Had you mentioned that to anyone? Had you said you were fond of the cat?

‘Finally, I don’t want to scare you, but I think you should look out for yourself. I’m afraid I’m not in a position to offer you police protection, so I’d recommend you stay in your friends’ house, if that’s possible. Don’t give anyone the address. If you do decide to go home, keep the front door locked at all times, even when you’re in the flat. Especially when you’re in the flat. I’ve had the garden door fixed, but don’t go in or out until you’re sure you’re safe.’

‘You think they might try again?’

‘Not at once. They’re waiting for us to arrest you. But when we don’t take any action, they may get impatient and come back. They’ve got it in for you, Susan, and they could decide to make another move.’

We walked on in silence. Somehow, we had curved round so that we were now heading back to the house. The father with the children had pulled in the kite. There were fewer people around us. The day was drawing to a close.

‘I’m sorry I doubted you,’ I said. ‘And it was wrong of me to accuse you of doing something illegal.’

‘Look, I can imagine how upsetting this must be for you.’ He paused. ‘But I have got one thing that may cheer you up.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That discussion we had about Eliot’s book. You said something very interesting about the stepfather, Elmer Waysmith.’

‘And …?’

‘I’m still not sure how much it will help me with my investigation, but I’m fairly certain I’ve worked out who killed Margaret Chalfont and why. Don’t ask me now! I need a day or two to think about it – but as soon as I’ve got it sorted in my mind, I’ll let you know.’