The Yacht Party (Lara Stone)

‘I think you’d better sit down,’ he said.

Lara sat on the edge of the sofa, perching on the arm like a nervous swimmer at the side of a pool. She wanted to tell Fox everything, her belief that Michael Sachs had ordered the killings of Sandrine, Helen Groves, perhaps even Jonathon Meyer, but in this state he wouldn’t believe a word she said. Fox looked across at her.

‘Look, I’m back in work on Monday. Why don’t we arrange an appointment and you can tell me what you know, what you think has happened here.’

‘Thanks Ian,’ she said, although Monday seemed a very long way off. ‘What else are you going to do Police-wise?’

‘I can sort out your door. We have a guy who can come out and secure it…’

She waited for him to say something else, panic swelling in her belly.

‘My door? That’s it?’ she said, hearing the hysteria in her voice.

‘I’ll send over a couple of lads on their way over to see if there’s any CCTV footage, make some local inquiries.’

It didn’t feel like much.

‘There’s got to be something else you can do.’

She was grateful that he had come but it all felt thin.

‘Lara, what do you expect?’ he said, exasperated. ‘There’s been a break-in. But no one has threatened you, nothing has apparently been stolen.’

Her hand clenched into a fist. ‘Fox, there are two dead bodies. Three if you add Dingo – which I do. You’d better hope there aren’t any more on your conscience.’

He paused.

‘Do you have anywhere you can stay?’

Lara had a cottage on the Avery estate in Oxfordshire, but with Friday night traffic it could take two hours to get there.

‘Do you know The Pengelly?’ he asked. ‘That hotel off Sloane Square, where all the celebrities stay?’

Lara nodded.

‘The stars don’t just go there for the pillow menu, they go because it’s safe. A mate of mine runs security there, it’s a tight ship, a vetted staff, that’s why the big stars love it. I can give him a ring, get you a rate?’

Fox knew her background, that she was a member of the Avery family, but Lara appreciated him not assuming that she could throw money at the problem.

‘Thanks,’ she said. Lara left Fox on the dock speaking on his phone, arranging for the security service. She hadn’t liked telling him off – he was off-duty and yet he had come straight over and at the very least, he had taken her seriously. But she could see there was going to be no heavy police involvement here, no men in white suits dusting for fingerprints. She knew how overstretched the force was, how busy they would be on a hot, busy Friday night. Why would they prioritise her over a stabbing, domestic violence or a drunken assault?

She went up to the top deck of Misty, and looked at her phone. She debated whether to call Alex again, but she took a deep breath and rang Stefan.

The ring tone told her he was still overseas, and her heart sank in disappointment.

‘Stefan, it’s Lara.’

It suddenly seemed reckless to have called him.

‘Lara, hi!’ She heard genuine pleasure behind the words as well as the sounds of busy city life, behind him, traffic, voices in a language she didn’t recognise.

‘Where are you?’

‘Amsterdam. I’m just heading out for dinner with some of the Telegraaf team. I have to remind them that I’m still alive. Lara, is something wrong?’

‘My place got broken into.’

‘Oh God. Are you okay? Did they take anything?’