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shop downstairs and here in the office, we have six, two of whom are part-time.  And then, of course, there are the four employees in the workshops upstairs.’
    ‘And I understand Brayshaw’s are not only jewellers but also diamond merchants.’
    ‘That’s correct.’
    Fitzjohn sat in silence for a moment before continuing.  ‘Then I think it would be prudent to do a stock take, don’t you?  This may not just be a suspicious death we’re dealing with.’
    ‘I see what you mean.  I’ll see to it, Inspector.’
    ‘What else can you tell me about yesterday, Mr Parish?  For example, were there any other upsets?’
    Howard Parish ran his right index finger along the edge of his desk.  ‘Not to my knowledge.  Mr Harford arrived at the office around 10am.  He wasn’t in the best of moods, as I remember.  He did have one appointment just before lunch.  It was with Mr Wycliffe who has a couple of restaurants in the area.  “Wycliffe’s at the Quay” and “Wycliffe’s Sea Food Restaurant” here in The Rocks.’
    At that moment, Betts appeared in the doorway.  Fitzjohn gave him a questioning look.
    ‘I’ve had a look through Laurence Harford’s office, sir.  Other than the cabinet, everything seems in order except for a number of bank statements in the top drawer of the desk.  They’re addressed to an Edward Harford.’
    Fitzjohn looked toward Howard Parish.  ‘Does that surprise you Mr Parish?’
    ‘Yes, it does, as a matter of fact.  I can’t imagine why they’d be there.  When Edward Harford retired, I know he removed all his personal papers.’
    ‘Very well, we’ll look into it a bit later, Betts.  For now, I want you to have a word with the staff as they arrive.  Mr Parish will show you where to find them.’
    At that same moment, a chubby young woman with dark brown hair, cut in a bob, appeared in the doorway.  Her brow wrinkled when she saw Fitzjohn.  ‘Mr Parish, what’s going on?’
    Howard Parish got to his feet followed by Fitzjohn.  ‘Constance.  It’s Mr Harford.  I’m afraid…’
    As Howard Parish faltered, Fitzjohn said, ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fitzjohn.  I take it you’re the Office Administrator.’
    ‘Yes, Constance Plummer.’
    Fitzjohn looked toward Parish.  ‘Mr Parish, perhaps you could show Detective Sergeant Betts where he can speak to the rest of the employees.’
    ‘Yes, of course.’  Parish looked toward Betts.  ‘This way, Sergeant.’
    As they left, Fitzjohn turned back to Constance Plummer.  ‘Have a seat, Ms Plummer.’  Gripping her handbag, her knuckles white, Constance perched herself on the edge of the nearest chair, her eyes darting from Fitzjohn to the overall clad figures visible through Laurence Harford’s open office door.  Fitzjohn half sat on the side of the desk.
    ‘What’s happened, Inspector?’ said Constance, her voice all but a whisper.
    ‘Mr Parish found Laurence Harford’s body in the back lane when he arrived for work this morning.’  Constance Plummer gaped at Fitzjohn.
    ‘You mean he’s dead?’
    ‘I’m afraid so.’  Constance Plummer’s handbag fell to the floor as her hand went to her mouth.  Fitzjohn reached down to pick the bag up.  Sensing her distress and spying a water cooler in the outer office he said, ‘Can I get you some water?’  Constance grabbed a tissue from her hand bag, nodding as she dabbed her nose.  Fitzjohn waited for a moment or two while she sipped the water before asking, ‘Do you have any idea what happened in Laurence Harford’s office yesterday afternoon?’
    Constance put the paper cup on the desk beside her.  ‘You mean the cabinet?’
    ‘So you do know.’
    ‘Yes, a man came to see Mr Harford late in the day.  I’ve not seen him before, although, it was evident they knew each other.  They spoke in Mr Harford’s office for a few minutes before I heard a crash so I went in.  Mr Harford was laid out on the floor and the man was standing over