Dead at First Sight

12 Wednesday 26 September

Toby Seward, a motivational speaker — and recent early loser on the television programme MasterChef — was happily occupied with one of his two passions, preparing meals for his husband, Paul. His other was tending the tiny garden at the front of their home. Playing on the television in the kitchen of their house in the North Laine district of Brighton was a recording of the programme, with contestants on the show who had got further than he had managed.

Few things in life gave the distinguished-looking, silver-haired, soon-to-be forty-eight-year-old more pleasure than to cook a fine dinner for the man he loved. And he was at a critical stage in the early preparations for tonight. Lobster ravioli with avocado and garlic, broccoli, almond and quinoa salad. Paul’s favourite. The almonds, frying in coconut oil in the pan, were on the verge of burning. He drained them, all the time watching the television programme, as he was copying a recipe from it. He was also in a hurry. In less than two hours he was due on stage at the Brighton Centre to talk to five hundred delegates from a pharmaceutical company.

His mobile phone rang, and he very nearly did not answer. Usually, when he saw the message ID Withheld, he ignored the call, because almost certainly it was spam, someone trying to sell insurance, a fake car-crash claim or some other bit of flotsam from the digital sewer. Then he remembered that Paul was having problems with his new iPhone and was taking it to the shop to exchange it. Perhaps it was him?

Hitting the remote to freeze the television, he answered perkily, ‘Toby here!’ And heard a cultured, middle-aged female voice. ‘Is that Toby Seward?’

‘It is indeed!’

‘I’m very sorry if this sounds strange, Mr Seward,’ the woman said. ‘My name is Suzy Driver. You see, you don’t know me, but the thing is, I thought I knew you.’