Lindsay sat still for a moment, wondering what she’d said to unsettle Knight so obviously. Then, faintly, she heard the electronic exclamations of a touch-tone telephone. “Ah, shit,” she murmured, stealthily easing out of the chair and edging towards the door. Half-way there, she noticed there was a phone on a side table just within reach of Derek Knight’s preferred armchair.

She sidestepped the chair and reached for the phone. One hand gripped the handset, the other wormed its way under the earpiece until it was pressed down over the black plastic trigger that replaced the old-fashioned cradle. She lifted the handset to her ear, still keeping the trigger firmly depressed. She wrestled one-handed with the handset until her thumb was pressed hard against the mouthpiece, effectively cutting off any external sound, then put the earpiece to her ear. With slow and infinite care, Lindsay gently and gradually released the black trigger.

Derek Knight’s voice was loud in her ear, waspishly impatient “. . . asked to be put through to Inspector Nicholson.”

“This is Detective Constable Partridge, sir. I’m one of the inspector’s team. How can I be of help?” a more distant voice rumbled. Lindsay’s chest tightened. If Knight was calling the police, there could only be one reason. He’d sussed her.

“I don’t wish to appear rude, officer, but I’ve already had dealings with Inspector Nicholson on the Varnavides case, and it would save time all round if you’d just put me through to the correct extension.”

Good sense would take her feet out of there as fast as they could go, Lindsay knew. But good sense had never been her first choice when curiosity was one of the other available options. She wanted to know what had triggered Derek Knight’s suspicions of her. Then she’d leave, and only then.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” DC Partridge said, his voice placatory. “Inspector Nicholson isn’t in the station right now.”

“When will she be back? This is urgent, officer!”

She, Lindsay thought ruefully. What a time for her to be hoist on the petard of sexist assumption. The police had been “the lads” for so long, it hadn’t occurred to her that the officer in charge of a murder hunt could be a woman. And everybody else had been so busy being politically correct that no one had mentioned it to her.

Lindsay was so busy mentally cursing herself that she missed the officer’s reply. But she heard Derek Knight’s response loud and clear. “Well, in that case, you’ll just have to do. Are you familiar with the Varnavides case?”

“I’m the officer who took your statement, Mr. Knight,” Partridge said heavily.

“Fine. Well, I’ve got a woman in my flat impersonating a police officer. I caught her coming out of the murder scene and when I challenged her, she claimed to be with the police. She said she had some more questions for me, but I was suspicious. Then I tricked her into revealing that she thought Inspector Nicholson was a man.”