Lindsay had always hated gatekeepers who, powerless in their own right, jealously guarded access to the source. If there was one thing she valued about her years as a journalist, it was the selection of methods it had shown her to get past the dragons at the gates. Taking out her notebook, she scribbled, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell the police about the Darkliners film deal. V. I. Warshawski.” She tore the page off, folded it half and said, “I think you might find that will change her mind. And don’t even think about not showing it to Ms. Polson. I can guarantee that that would seriously upset her.” She placed the note on the receptionist’s keyboard.

She glowered at Lindsay, then picked up the paper and dialled a number on her switchboard. Picking up the handset as the number rang out, she said, “Trish, there’s a note here for Catriona. Can you come and get it? I can’t leave reception right now.” She gave Lindsay a malicious little smirk.

“I’m really not going to steal the art,” Lindsay said, settling into one of the enveloping leather sofas. She leaned back and gazed into the middle distance, affecting not to notice the dumpy gopher who emerged from the tall office door, snatched up the note and disappeared again. Within five minutes, the gopher returned and muttered something to the receptionist, who scowled, gestured with a pen and said, “That’s her.”

The other woman came over and said, “Catriona will see you now.”

As she followed, Lindsay winked at her antagonist. “Aren’t you glad we didn’t take a bet on it?” she asked, enjoying the pink fury of the receptionist’s face.

Lindsay was escorted to the same conference room and left to her own devices for the best part of ten minutes. When Catriona Polson finally entered, she found Lindsay sitting staring at the portrait of Penny Varnavides. “I can’t get used to the idea of not seeing her again,” Polson said.

“Really? Don’t you worry she might come back to haunt you once Galaxy Pictures have fucked over her books?” Lindsay said, hoping she sounded as offensive as she intended.

“I don’t think either of those things is going to happen,” the agent said icily, folding her long body into one of the chairs. “Look, I really don’t want to get into a ruck with you. The only reason I agreed to see you was in the hope that we could strike me off your ridiculous suspect list for good and all. I had no motive for Penny Varnavides’ death. Yes, it would have been a blow if she had turned down what is a very attractive TV deal, but it would have been a long way from the end of the world.”