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get you coffee, tea?’
    ‘No, thank you, Charles,’ said Lambert.
    ‘So, how may I help?’
    ‘I’m afraid we have some bad news,’ said Matilda. They had agreed on the walk over that she would speak first.
    ‘Oh yes?’ said Robinson, the smile remaining, his eyes narrowing.
    ‘I’m afraid the body of Moira Sackville was found in her flat yesterday evening. She has been the victim of a suspected murder.’
    Robinson’s face collapsed, and Lambert saw another side to the man. An older, scared Robinson, the façade of his professional self vanishing. ‘Moira? How? Why?’ he said, his voice whisper quiet. He turned away from them in his swivel chair, facing a bookcase which mirrored the one in the reception area.
    Lambert gave him a moment. ‘How well did you know Mrs Sackville?’ he asked.
    Robinson didn’t answer. He remained facing the bookcase. Lambert was about to ask again when the man dragged his hand across his face and turned back in their direction. ‘Sorry about that. This is quite a shock.’ His bright red face highlighted the faint creases in his complexion, ageing him by ten years. ‘How well did I know her? I knew her well. She is a good friend of Prue. Prue McKenzie. Sorry, Prue is a friend of the chambers, does a lot of work for charity. I met Moira through her at one of the functions. And her husband, Eustace,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘How is Eustace?’
    ‘As well as can be expected,’ said Lambert, not willing to divulge any more details at present.
    ‘How close were you to Moira, Mr Robinson?’ asked Kennedy.
    Robinson linked his hands together, and stared at Kennedy. ‘I suppose you know something or you wouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘I would sincerely hope this doesn’t get out, for Eustace’s sake, but yes, Moira and I were lovers for a time.’
    Lambert doubted the man’s concern was for Moira’s widower. ‘How long?’
    ‘Five years, on and off.’
    ‘How often did you see her?’ asked Kennedy, a coldness in her tone.
    ‘Listen, it was her choice. I never instigated anything, and would never contact her. I would only see her when she contacted me. That was the way it worked and I respected it.’
    ‘Do you mind me asking if you have a significant partner?’ asked Lambert.
    Robinson frowned. ‘No. My wife died fifteen years ago and there has been no one serious since.’ He ran his hands through his hair, leaving a loose tuft sticking up from his scalp. ‘I don’t feel great about what happened. I don’t prey on other people’s wives as a rule. I’m afraid Moira wasn’t that happy with Eustace, and that was long before I came along. I didn’t steal her. She was obviously missing something in her life which I provided.’
    ‘When was the last time you saw her?’ said Kennedy.
    Robinson clenched his hands together, his eyes darting upwards. ‘About a year ago.’
    ‘A year? You’re sure?’
    ‘Approximately, yes. I decided to end it. I’m afraid it had started to become quite tiresome.’
    ‘And how did Mrs Sackville respond to this news?’ asked Lambert.
    ‘She was distraught. I received the odd phone call. Tears, that sort of thing, but I am sure she got over it.’
    Lambert thought about what Kennedy had told him. The S and M Prue McKenzie had reluctantly detailed. ‘No one is morally judging you, Mr Robinson. Our concern is to track Moira’s killer. I’m afraid the crime scene was not a pleasant one.’
    Robinson took in a number of shallow breaths. ‘Do I really need to hear this?’
    ‘I’ll only go into as much details as necessary. There was a home invasion. Mrs Sackville was handcuffed to a chair,’ said Lambert.
    Robinson put his hand to his mouth. As a criminal barrister he would have heard much worse, as a defence barrister would have defended those accused of such acts. Either it was a show, or he was genuinely distressed by his lover’s death. ‘We believe the intruder cut open her wrists and that Mrs Sackville slowly