Two policemen arrived and stationed themselves silently in front of the house. A tall, grey-haired man with piercing eyes, wearing a dark-blue suit, came up to us. He shook hands with us quickly and asked for our names. He had prominent cheekbones, probably growing sharper with age, and a look of calm but determined authority, as if he was used to taking charge of situations.

“I’m Inspector Petersen,” he said. He indicated a man in green overalls who nodded briefly as he came past. “That’s our forensic pathologist. Would you mind coming inside for a moment? We need to ask you some questions.”

The pathologist put on latex gloves and leaned over the chaise longue. We watched from across the room as he carefully checked Mrs Eagleton’s body, taking blood and skin samples, which he handed to one of his assistants. The photographer’s flash went off a couple of times above the lifeless face.

“Right,” said the pathologist, beckoning to us. “In exactly what position did you find her?”

“Her head was facing the back of the sofa,” said Seldom. “She was on her side…a little bit more…Her legs were straight, the right arm was bent. Yes, I think she was like that.” He glanced at me for confirmation.

“And that pillow was on the floor,” I added.

Petersen picked up the pillow and showed the forensic pathologist the bloodstain in the middle.

“Do you remember exactly where?”

“On the rug, about level with her head. It looked as if it fell while she was asleep.”

The photographer took another couple of photos.