“They have changed the law. That’s the current status. Which you would know if you actually read the Guardian Weekly instead of using it to put under Mutton’s food bowl. That dog knows more about current British politics than you do.” Suddenly, Lindsay leaned forward and pointed across the car park to the front door of Monarch Press. “Fuck! That’s our man,” she said, indicating Danny King, who had just left his office with a tall man in shirtsleeves and suit trousers who carried a square sample case in one hand and a briefcase in the other. Danny was empty-handed, dressed in baggy cream-colored trousers and a flowing dark blue long-sleeved shirt.

“The one who doesn’t look like a sales rep?” Sophie asked.

“Got it in one. Oh, shit, they’re headed this way!” Lindsay exclaimed, shrinking back from the window, as if that would render her invisible. For a taut moment, she was on the point of taking flight. Then the two men paused by a dark saloon.

“It’s okay, they’re only going to their car,” Sophie said, relief spreading across her face. The man in the collar and tie dumped his bags in the boot, then climbed into the driving seat, while Danny strolled further down the car park and climbed behind the wheel of a silver Mercedes convertible.

“Nice wheels,” Lindsay enthused as Danny shot out of his slot and headed for the exit. “Shame about how he paid for them.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Sophie said.

“We soon will.” Lindsay checked her watch. “Nearly five now, and anybody left will be out like greased lightning now Danny’s gone and there’s no one left to impress. I don’t know about you, but I fancy another strawberry tart.” Sophie pulled a face. “Hey,” Lindsay said. “The night is young. My blood sugar needs all the help it can get. Like you said, it’s a tough business, burglary.”

Forty minutes later, they stood inside the reception area of Monarch Press. Lauren had hustled them through the front door faster than a Royal aide helping the boss escape the paparazzi. Then she’d handed over a bunch of keys and a sheet of paper that provided Lindsay and Sophie with the instructions for setting the intruder alarms when they left, and Lauren’s address so they could return the keys later.

“The list?” Lindsay demanded.

Lauren reached behind her desk and grabbed a scruffy sheet of A4 paper with a list of names. She thrust it at Sophie and, before they had a chance to ask her any more questions, was off.

The vertical blinds that lined the windows of the publishing house let in more than enough light for the two women to see where they were going and what they were doing. “His office is upstairs,” Lindsay whispered, handing Sophie some latex gloves and wrestling her hands into her own pair.