She turned around to face him, sweeping some strands of hair off her face with her hand. 'Would you like a glass of wine? I'm having one.' He sensed her tension and wondered why she was nervous.

'Yes, please.' He could certainly use a drink and maybe if she had one too, she would relax a little.

She poured out two large glasses of red wine, emptying the remains of an open bottle on the counter, then joined him at the table, placing herself opposite him.

'Do you mind if I have a cigarette?' he asked.

'Be my guest. May I have one too?' She took the Marlboro red he offered her, adding, 'I don't usually smoke nowadays,' as if it were important. She stood up again, rummaged in a cupboard then came back to the table carrying a saucer. 'My brother hates smoking, so there are no ashtrays.'

Surprised that her brother was so fussy, given the general state of the flat, he leaned across and lit her cigarette, then his own. She took a deep drag and coughed.

'I'd forgotten how strong these are,' she said, and cleared her throat. 'So, what do you want to ask me?'

He relaxed back in the chair and looked at her for a moment, noting the tiredness in her face, wondering where to start. For a moment the image of the masks and handcuffs in Rachel Tenison's trunk flashed before him again, but he would ask her about that later.

'You knew Miss Tenison better than anyone. If you were in my shoes, where would you start looking?'

'I've no idea.'

She answered a little too quickly and he didn't believe her. 'Look, there's a strong possibility the crime was sexually motivated and that Miss Tenison knew her killer. But the only relationship we know of was with Richard Greville, which apparently finished a year ago.'

'That's right.' She gave him a wary look as she sipped her wine. 'I thought we went over all that this morning.'

'Was she gay, or bisexual maybe?' Even though Patrick Tenison had said not, he had to check again. A brother might not know everything about his sister.

'No. Absolutely not. That much I can tell you.'

'You want to find out who killed your friend?' His voice was challenging.

Her eyes widened. 'Of course I do.'

'Then help me. I'm struggling to form a picture of her.' He paused for a moment, letting the silence stretch as he inhaled some smoke, beginning to feel calmer. 'OK, let's start with Richard Greville. Explain to me the dynamics of their relationship. He was much older. Didn't she like men of her own age?'

Liz grimaced. 'Usually, yes. But with Richard it was different. I personally never understood the attraction Richard's not my cup of tea, I mean, nothing to do with his age. But I suppose it's that old chestnut. Rachel was looking for a father figure and Richard fitted the bill.'

'Did it make her happy?'

She appeared surprised at the question. 'I don't know,' she said, reflectively, meeting his gaze for a moment with an air of frankness that he found instantly appealing. 'In a funny way, Rachel liked the fact that Richard was under her spell, but I think once she had him there, the attraction sort of wore off. I got the impression that she took him a bit for granted.'

'But I thought the relationship went on for several years.'

'I doubt if it would have lasted that long without the business. Richard was the anchor in Rachel's life in more senses than one.'

'It didn't bother her that he was married?'

'Morally you mean?'

'In any way you like.'

Tipping the ash from her cigarette, she again looked him straight in the eye. 'I don't think it bothered her in the slightest, either morally or in the sense that she had to share him with someone else. She knew he was hers. He would have left his wife at the drop of a hat if only Rachel had asked, but she didn't want that.'

'She told you all this?'

She shook her head. 'This is me just reading between the lines, which I had to do a lot of the time with Rachel. She wasn't someone who ever poured out her feelings, believe me.'

'But she told you about her relationship with Richard Greville.'

'She didn't actually tell me. I found out by accident...' She paused and gave a hesitant smile. It was the first time he had seen her smile and it brightened her whole face. He noticed that she had a small gap between her front teeth and he thought she looked really lovely.

'Please go on.'

She shook her head and sighed. 'Well...It was sometime after they had set up the business. It was early evening and I happened to be in the West End for some reason, so I stopped by to see if Rachel was still at the gallery. She usually worked late and I thought she might like to go out for a drink. I couldn't see anyone around but there was a light on in the back and the door wasn't properly shut. I pushed it open and wandered in. I still didn't see anyone so I started to go downstairs. I found them, or heard them, screwing down in his office. Perhaps it was her office, I can't remember.'

'They left the door upstairs unlocked?'

She shrugged. 'Maybe it was accidental, or maybe what had happened between them had been spur of the moment. Although, maybe the idea that someone could just walk in and find them added to the thrill. Some people like that sort of thing.'

She spoke dismissively, as if it was all part of another world, and for a moment he found himself wondering what sort of thing she liked.

'You told her you knew what was going on?'

'Yes. I confronted her with it the next day I don't like being lied to, even though it wasn't really my business. She then explained that she and Richard were having an affair, or something along those lines. She was quite matter-of-fact about it, like someone telling you what they've had for lunch. She said it was early days and she would have told me about it eventually, which I'm sure she would have done but, well, it wasn't her way to discuss such things.'

He picked up a hint of bitterness in her tone, which he found curious, and he wondered if for some reason she had been jealous. Women's relationships with one another were baffling. Friends one minute, sworn enemies the next, they could be so close, so intense; it left no room for anyone else. He had often felt shut out. But perhaps there were some women who found such intimacy claustrophobic. Perhaps that was what Liz Volpe was trying to say. But he felt there was something else behind her words, which he couldn't for the moment fathom.

He put down his glass and stubbed out his cigarette, leaning forwards, holding her gaze, sure that there was something more. 'Please go on.'

Liz shrugged. 'It's nothing really. I just got the impression that I had somehow spoiled her fun by finding out.' Blowing a final plume of smoke into the air, she mashed her cigarette hard on the saucer. 'Maybe now you'll believe me when I tell you I have no idea if she was seeing somebody before she died.'

'OK,' he said, although he still wasn't convinced. 'We now know a little more about Rachel's movements on the Thursday night after she left work. She met somebody for a drink with the initials JB. Do they mean anything to you, by any chance?'

'JB?' She raised her eyebrows and gave him a strange look, which he didn't understand, then shook her head.

'Later, she was seen having dinner in a local restaurant with a man, probably the same one. You really have no idea who it was?'

'No. Why should I?'

'Miss Tenison had sex with someone later that night, possibly the same person she saw for a drink and then dinner. The sex was violent, abusive...'

'Jesus,' she exhaled, putting her hands to her mouth. 'Poor Rachel.'

'We're not sure if it was consensual or if she was raped.'

She stared at him. 'What do you mean, you're not sure?'

'Forensically, it's almost impossible to tell the difference between rough sex and some cases of rape.' He paused, noting the shock on her face.

'You're saying it may have been consensual?'

'Your friend liked rough sex. Did you know that?'

She shook her head slowly. 'You're making this up.'

'We found some stuff in her flat. Seems she was into bondage. She liked being tied up.'

'Rachel? You're joking.'

Again he was sure her reaction was genuine. 'You know nothing of this?'

She flushed and banged her fist on the table. 'Why the hell would she tell me that sort of thing? There are limits, you know. Although perhaps you don't believe that.'

'But you've seen the photographs in her flat. The ones of the men in masks.'

'Yes,' she replied, more quietly, as if it was starting to sink in. 'But photographs are one thing, it doesn't mean...' She bit her lip and looked away.

'Didn't you think they were a bit weird?'

'I didn't make the connection.'

Her attention seemed to be elsewhere and he wondered what was going through her mind. She seemed close to tears and he wondered if it was simply shock, or something more. But he couldn't stop there.

'Getting back to what happened, whether it was rape or not, the sequence of events points to her being killed last Friday between seven and nine in the morning. So, whoever she had sex with was one of the last people to see her alive. He may also be her killer. When we spoke this morning you said you had the impression she was seeing somebody. I need to know more about it.'

'I think I need another drink first,' she said, getting up from the chair and going over to the counter where she took a bottle of wine from the rack. 'I was thinking about it earlier, trying to remember exactly what it was Rachel said.' Cradling the bottle and still looking upset, she leaned back on the counter and gazed vaguely into the middle of the room. 'We'd had a couple of glasses of wine at her flat and then we walked around the corner to get a bite to eat. We were just chatting about this and that, about people we knew. Nothing important, really. Then her phone buzzed. She had it sitting on the table in front of her and she picked it up. It was a text message and I remember wondering what was so important that she needed to look at it immediately. It was almost as though she'd been expecting it. She read it quickly, then excused herself from the table. I noticed that she took the phone with her. When she came back a few minutes later, her whole mood was different.'

Liz picked up a corkscrew and pulled out the cork, then came back to the table.

'You think she'd called whoever it was?' he asked, as she topped up their glasses and sat down.

She took a gulp of wine as if very thirsty, then shook her head. 'I have no idea. But something had definitely happened. She looked really tense, almost angry. I asked her if she was OK and she said yes, but I didn't believe her and I kept pressing her about it until finally she said, "It's just some stupid man, that's all. But I don't want to go into it." Something along those lines.'

'She was referring to a lover?'

'I guess so, although maybe she meant Richard. Maybe they'd had a row. Although if it was Richard, she'd mention him by name, wouldn't she?'

'Did she say anything else?'

'No. That was it. I would have pressed her about it, but some people she knew came over and asked if they could join us for a drink and we moved on to other things. Anyway, perhaps I've read too much into what she said.'

'Surely she mentioned the man's name? I mean, you must have spoken after that evening?'

'We didn't speak after that evening,' she said emphatically. 'That was the last time I saw her.'

'Can't you give me a name?'

Her expression hardened and her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. She pressed her lips together stubbornly and shook her head. 'I don't have a name.'

Her face had turned quite pink, but he still hadn't finished. 'There's another thing that puzzles me. Why didn't you speak after that? Or at least email one another.'

'Because we didn't,' she almost shouted.

He realised he had touched a nerve. 'Did you quarrel? Is that why you're out of touch?'

'No.' She stared at him with fierce, round, watery eyes.

'It's never a good idea to lie, but this is a murder investigation.'

'I know what it bloody is and I'm not lying.'

He still didn't believe her but there was no point pushing further. If he wasn't careful, she would show him the door. 'OK, let's try something else. Some lines of poetry were found on her body. I know it's a long shot, but I was wondering if they might ring a bell. Maybe they meant something to Rachel.'

He reached into a pocket of his coat and passed her a folded photocopied sheet. She opened it and glanced down the page, mouthing some of the words as she quickly read.

Then she frowned and looked up at him. 'You say this was found on her body?'

'Yes. Do you know it?'

'I've never seen it before, but it's horrible. I wish you hadn't shown me...' Tears were running down her cheeks and she stood up, scraping her chair back. She turned away and hugged herself tightly, shoulders shaking. 'I wish I hadn't seen it...' She let the paper float to the floor.

'I'm sorry.'

She shook her head and leaned forwards against the counter, clutching at her stomach as if about to be sick and started to cry in great, gulping sobs. Not knowing what to do, he got up and walked over to her, and gently touched her shoulder. She half turned towards him and, without thinking, he put his arms around her and pulled her into him like a child, waiting for her to calm down. Standing there, holding her, he realised he hadn't been this close to a woman in months. The touch, the warmth, the unexpected intimacy, was stirring, and for a moment he closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her and the lovely smell of her hair. With a jolt he remembered who he was and why he was there. Not trusting himself, he let go of her abruptly and stepped back. Christ, what the hell had he done? A moment's stupid impulse and she could have him on a disciplinary charge. He must be out of his mind.

She opened her eyes and looked at him questioningly. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she tugged a tissue from her sleeve. She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose loudly.

'I'm really very sorry indeed,' he said. 'I should never have shown it to you. I just needed to know if it meant anything.'

'It's not just the poem,' she said quietly, her hands limp at her sides. 'It's everything. It's such a shock. I still can't believe what's happened.'

'I'm also sorry to keep pressing you, but I have to find out all I can. You do understand, don't you?'

She nodded, blowing her nose a second time.

'Are you going to be all right?'

'Yes, I'll be fine. Thanks.' She tossed the tissue in the bin by the sink and smoothed down the edge of her cardigan, her voice back to normal as though it had all been just a passing squall.

9.

A couple of hours later, the distant keening of a saxophone above strings and drums greeted Tartaglia as he pushed open the door of the Bull's Head. Situated at the end of Barnes village high street overlooking the Thames, only a short walk from the office, it was one of his favourite haunts. It had once been a Victorian coaching inn and its main room was unusually large and open plan, with the bar sitting in the centre like a hub. He loved the atmosphere, particularly in winter, when the pub's unpretentious bare brick walls and comfortable, unfussy furnishings were enveloped in a warm, welcoming fug. The room was almost empty, apart from a few locals who were dotted around quietly sipping their drinks. The pub was famous for its nightly sessions of jazz and most people were still in the back room listening to whatever was on that night's musical menu.