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out-dated attitude embarrassing. “I only had to load up the dishwasher,” he explained. “Not such an arduous task after all.”
    “Even so,” she began. Rafferty, tiring of this dish-talk, interrupted her to ask, “I gather you finally left a little before 9.00 p m?” She nodded.
    He turned to Astell. “And you, sir? What time did you last see Mr Moon?”
    “About 5.30 p m. Jasper's 4.00 p m client had left about half an hour earlier. He'd have been alone once Mrs Hadleigh left at 7.00 p m. Although Jasper was healthy enough, he wasn't a particularly fit man, Inspector. He'd have been easy prey for any violent intruder.”
    Rafferty sighed and glanced at Llewellyn. Edwin Astell seemed determined to believe that some anonymous intruder had killed Moon, as if convinced that repetition of this belief would incline the police to share it. Rafferty wished he could share it; he didn't relish the thought that one of Moon's well-known and probably litigious clients had killed him. If they had, and Rafferty failed to nail them thoroughly, he foresaw claims for wrongful arrest flying around his unprotected head. For he could be sure that Bradley would promptly disown him. Get a grip, Rafferty, he warned himself. Worry about making an arrest when you've got a firm suspect, not before. Still, that locked cash box was interesting. To lock up afterwards was the natural instinct of the security conscious owner, or conscientious employee, not of a thief. It was possible that the murder was an inside job and the window was broken and the money taken afterwards in order to deflect suspicion. However, he said nothing of this to Astell. “You went home straight after?” he asked.
    “Yes. I bathed and changed into my dinner suit – as Mrs Moreno mentioned, my wife regarded these anniversary evenings as special, so I like to make an effort. My wife is a semi-invalid, Inspector, doesn't get out much and does very little socialising, so these evenings are that much more important to her.”
    Rafferty nodded. “I didn't realise your wife was an invalid. It must be difficult for you.”
    “Oh, she's not in a wheelchair, or anything like that, Inspector.” Astell frowned. “It might be better if she were. If she had a specific physical problem, then at least the doctors might be able to do something for her. As it is, beyond saying she's highly-strung, over-anxious and prone to the muscular aches and pains and exhaustion brought about by her anxiety syndrome, they are unable to tell me much.” He enlarged a little more about his wife's poor health, as though pleased to find a sympathetic audience, before he carried on with his explanation. “Anyway, we hold this little remembrance service every year for my late father-in-law, Alan Carstairs. Usually, we have more guests, but my wife hasn't felt up to the extra effort this year, so it was just the four of us.”
    After a few more questions, Rafferty let Mrs Moreno go. “Can you accompany my sergeant so the fingerprint man can take your prints?” he asked. “Simply for purposes of elimination,” he explained before she could protest. Having expected her to make a fuss, he was surprised when she agreed with no difficulty. When she had gone with Llewellyn, Rafferty turned back to Astell. “I'm afraid you won't be able to use the premises until the forensic team have finished their work. Could be a day or two.”
    Astell nodded. “Probably little point in opening, anyway, Inspector. With Jasper gone, the only people likely to want to make appointments will be the usual ghouls.”
    From Astell's drawn features, Rafferty guessed that Moon's death would adversely affect the business. Moon – to a large extent – apparently was the business. “We'll do our best to keep the ghouls away, sir. I'll ask the forensic team to work as quickly as possible so you can get back to some kind of normality. One more thing. Which of your staff have keys to the premises?”
    “All of them. Mrs