Lindsay nodded. “Right. I remember the lecture. Menwith Hill, Yorkshire, England. One of the biggest listening posts in the world, run to all intents and purposes by the US government. Who routinely monitor phone calls, faxes and computer traffic. I’ve always found it hard to get my head round the idea. I mean, the sheer volume of it. Some days I don’t have time to read my own e-mail. The thought of ploughing through everybody else’s . . . Anyway, yeah, it’s starting to make sense. Okay, I understand why Meredith wouldn’t want to entrust anything sensitive to any form of telecommunication. And given the news in today’s paper, I don’t have to be what’s-her-name with the crystal ball on the national lottery to figure out it must be something to do with Penny. So what’s going on?”

Sandra pushed her hair back from her face in what was clearly a regular time-buying gesture. “Ms. Miller and her lawyer have sent me over from London . . .”

“Hang on a minute,” Lindsay butted in again. “What’s with the ‘lawyer’ bit? I didn’t even know Meredith was in London, never mind that she’d got herself a lawyer.”

“Ms. Miller has a lawyer because she seems to think she’s about to become the police’s number one suspect in their inquiry into the murder of Penny Varnavides,” Sandra blurted out in a rush, clearly deciding it was the only way to tell Lindsay anything without interruption.

Lindsay found herself staggering slightly at the abrupt news. Mutton scrambled to his feet and thrust a wet nose into her hand. “Can we walk while we talk? My muscles need to warm down properly or I’ll cramp up,” she stalled, turning so she and Sandra faced back up the beach. Sandra fell in by her side. A few steps further on, Lindsay said, “The paper here said there were no suspicious circumstances. What changed?”

“The police found out about the murder method in Ms. Varnavides’ new book.”

“Which is?”

“The killer reads a warning in the newspaper from a chain of—is it ‘convenience stores’ they call them over here?”

“That’s right, if you mean off-licences.”

“This warning tells customers to keep wheat beer refrigerated in prolonged spells of warm weather to prevent secondary fermentation and possible explosive accidents. So the killer puts half a dozen bottles of wheat beer on top of the fridge at head height. Then he knocks one to the floor, where of course it breaks explosively. He snatches up a shard of glass and when his victim comes rushing through to see what’s going on, he thrusts it into her neck. Then he pulls it out, wipes it clean of his fingerprints and lets her bleed to death. Then he shakes up another bottle and opens it so that she’s sprayed with beer as if she’d been caught in the actual explosion.” Her delivery was precise and measured. That made it easier for Lindsay to tune out the thought that it was her friend who had been killed in this ruthless way. She imagined Sandra’s reports would be masterpieces of concision.