“He says he only realized this morning. He claims Penny’s editor was putting together the program for a memorial service, and they were going through her photographs of Penny to choose which one they’d put on the front. Among the photographs was one of Meredith and Penny together. Danny immediately recognized the woman in the car park, he says.” Geri’s voice was crisp, the warmth gone like a winter’s day when the sun sets.

“You don’t believe him either,” Lindsay said flatly.

“I can’t think why he would lie,” she replied obliquely.

“To protect the killer?” Lindsay said.

“Or if he is the killer,” Sophie chipped in.

“Maybe it’s nothing that dramatic,” Geri said. “Maybe he just wants to keep the pot boiling so Penny Varnavides and Monarch Press stay in the news? You’ve met him—do you think he’s capable of being that venal?”

Lindsay thought for a moment. Then she said, “He’s a wide boy. I’d say it’s more likely than him taking a risk to protect somebody. How long can they hang on to her before they have to charge her?”

“Murder’s a serious arrestable offense,” Geri said. “So they have an automatic thirty-six hours. But if they need an extension, I suspect they won’t have too much trouble finding a friendly magistrate to grant it. Fugitive risk and all that. Look, I have to go now. If there’s any development, I’ll be sure and let you know.”

“Thanks,” Lindsay said dully. She heard the double click as Geri and Sophie both hung up. Lindsay ran a hand through unwashed hair that was already standing up in a halo of spikes round her head. She felt impotent, trapped as much by her inability to think of something to do as by her physical incapacity.

Sophie appeared in the doorway. “It doesn’t sound good,” she said glumly.

“So we’d better get on with Heart of Glass.”

“It doesn’t seem to be taking us much further forward,” Sophie sighed, coming back to squat on the bed beside Lindsay.

“I know, but what else is there?” With a profound sigh, Lindsay picked up the laptop and started to read again.

It was early evening by the time they’d finished the revised draft of Penny’s final work. And nothing had leapt out at either Lindsay or Sophie to suggest motive or identity for her killer. Sophie stretched, thrusting her shoulders back and arching her spine, a soft groan escaping from her lips.

“See, I told you staying in bed was unhealthy,” Lindsay teased. “Look at the state of you.”

“I blame the airline seats,” Sophie said, dotting a kiss on Lindsay’s undamaged cheek and getting up. “I’m going downstairs to start some dinner for us all. Helen and Kirsten should be home in a couple of hours or so. You fancy pasta with a Provençale daube?”