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and began to sob.
    Brock and Kathy went back downstairs, where Everett showed them into what he described as the library. Two men were sitting in leather armchairs on each side of a marble fireplace. They got to their feet and Nigel Hadden-Vane took a step forward. Brock saw a flicker of recognition cross his face as he introduced Kathy and himself. On their last encounter they had been adversaries by proxy, through the agency of other players, but the underlying agenda had been between Brock and the veteran criminal Spider Roach, whose part Hadden-Vane had taken. Whether he had done so in order to score points against parliamentary rivals, or for more sinister reasons, had never been resolved.
    Now Hadden-Vane seemed subdued and cautious, eyeing Brock from time to time as Kathy put the questions. He explained that he had attended the memorial service for Nancy Haynes that morning in his capacity as MP for the borough. Mr Moszynski, who was well known to him, had also attended and invited him back afterwards for some lunch. As a member of the Parliamentary Business and Enterprise Committee, Sir Nigel had recently returned from an official visit to Russia to promote UK–Russian trade, and he and Mr Moszynski had many things to discuss. Later they were joined by Mr Moszynski’s financial adviser, Mr Clarke.
    ‘Freddie,’ Clarke interrupted, putting out his hand, then offering Kathy his business card, with an address in Mayfair. Head shaved, with a gingery goatee beard and moustache, he looked far too young to be anybody’s financial adviser.
    The meeting had turned into a social occasion, Hadden-Vane continued. Mr Moszynski was well known for his generous hospitality and the three men had remained together for supper, after which their host had left to smoke a cigar outside. He had given no indication of a threat against his life.
    ‘Absolutely not,’ Freddie Clarke agreed. ‘This is just, well, unbelievable.’
    ‘Did he know Mrs Haynes?’ Kathy asked.
    ‘No, no.’ Hadden-Vane shook his head. He was speaking carefully, as if to control a slight slur in his voice. Brock had noticed the glass and decanter of brandy on the small table by his armchair and guessed he was slightly drunk. ‘He attended her memorial service this morning to show his support, as a neighbour. He was extremely aware of his status as a guest in this country, and took it upon himself to behave as a model resident, supporting charities, local schools and the like.’
    Brock and Kathy continued questioning both men for some time, without getting any clearer idea of why Moszynski might have been attacked. Clarke sketched the international scale of his business dealings, but insisted that they were impeccably conducted and had attracted no personal or criminal antagonism.
    ‘What about the Russians?’ Kathy asked.
    Hadden-Vane gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘There’s too much hysterical nonsense made of all that. Every time some Russian expat has a turn it’s a plot by the Kremlin and the FSB. Believe me, they’re as embarrassed by those sorts of rumours and allegations as we are.’
    ‘Mr Moszynski didn’t exactly have a turn ,’ Kathy said.
    Hadden-Vane’s eyes narrowed and a flush spread across his face. ‘No, and I should have thought it pretty obvious that the reason lies a good deal closer to home. There is clearly a psychopathic maniac on the loose in this borough, and the sooner the police focus on that fact the better.’
    Brock saw Kathy stiffen at the contempt in the MP’s voice. ‘Two random victims from the same building?’
    ‘And why not?’ Hadden-Vane shot back, his voice raised now and angry. ‘The papers reported where Mrs Haynes was living. Why wouldn’t he come back to haunt the place? Maybe he hates foreigners; maybe he hates Chelsea, maybe he hates the police. I don’t know, but it’s your job to find out, and put a fucking stop to it.’
    Behind him, Clarke looked down at his feet with a little smirk