Sandra Bloom had been an investigator for long enough not to care how ungracious an invitation might be as long as it was forthcoming. She followed Lindsay inside and took in a living area with polished wood-block floors, dark squashy sofas and brilliantly colored Georgia O’Keeffe prints splashed across white walls. She decided not to comment on its attractiveness, knowing instinctively her target would dismiss it as merely another ploy. “I realize you feel pressured,” she said as Lindsay threw herself down on the nearest sofa, scowling.

“Good.”

“But Ms. Miller is in a very vulnerable emotional state. Her lover—”

“Former lover,” Lindsay interrupted.

“Her lover until very recently,” Sandra Bloom corrected her precisely, “has been murdered in a particularly calculated and cold-blooded way. She’s on her own in a strange city, thousands of miles from her friends. And as if that isn’t enough, she’s a suspect in the murder inquiry. And you’re the only person she thinks can help her.”

“But I’m not,” Lindsay protested. “What has she told you about me?”

“Very little. She did say that although you weren’t a detective, you’d solved murders before.”

Lindsay took another long pull at her bottle of beer. “Look,” she said. “I’m a journalist by trade. I don’t even do that any more. I teach kids how to be journalists because I realized I couldn’t do the job any more. It was costing me too much to burst into people’s lives and turn them upside down. Yes, I got caught up in murder investigations a couple of times and managed to uncover some stuff that the police didn’t. But none of that makes me competent to sort out Meredith’s problems.”

“You’re probably right,” Sandra Bloom said sympathetically. “It takes a lot of skill and experience to be a good detective. You might have the rudiments of the skills, but you certainly haven’t got the experience. Frankly, I think Meredith Miller would be better off hiring almost any private investigator in London. That’s what I told her lawyer. But Ms. Miller wasn’t having any. It was Lindsay Gordon or nobody.”

Lindsay’s scowl deepened. “I told you, emotional blackmail doesn’t work.”

“Fair enough.” Sandra Bloom’s smile was placatory. “And I fully appreciate why you don’t want to get involved. It can get hairy out there on the streets. You don’t want to be out on the front line unless you really know how to handle yourself. No, better Ms. Miller has nobody out there batting for her than she has somebody who doesn’t know what the hell to do next.”

The smile was starting to make Lindsay feel patronized rather than soothed. “I didn’t say I was totally clueless,” she muttered.

“Of course not,” Sandra continued blithely. “But you said yourself, you’re a long way off being a pro. But you appreciate I had to come and double check.” She took a step towards the front door. “I can go back now with a clear conscience. Once she realizes that she can’t count on having an investigator who’s one of her closest friends, I know she’ll settle for a regular firm of private investigators. I know a couple we can recommend to her. Thanks for your time, anyway.” Another step towards the door. “I’ll tell Ms. Miller that you fully sympathize, but you’re unable to help.”