Just over an hour later, she emerged from the antique shop with an 1860s variant of a Higginson syringe, a fearsome object used by surgeons for aborting the unwanted foetuses of the gentry as well as for routine internal spring-cleaning. Just listening to the shopkeeper describe its function made Lindsay’s flesh creep.

As she walked towards the canal, she started to review what she had learned earlier. She’d got as far as rerunning her conversation with Baz when a hand clamped heavily on her shoulder. Her stomach lurched, seized by the same panic she’d felt escaping from Derek Knight’s flat. Startled, Lindsay swung round on the balls of her feet, ready to push her assailant away and run for it.

Familiar red curls swirled in front of her. “What are you doing here?” Helen demanded. “I thought you were off in darkest Shepherd’s Bush making citizen’s arrests on publishers.”

Lindsay closed her eyes and let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. “Don’t ever do that again,” she said. “Jesus, Helen, I’ve eaten too much cholesterol over the years. Another shock like that and I could drop down dead.”

“You know, sometimes I forget you were a tabloid hack for a million years. Then you go and sound like the front page of the Sun and it all comes flooding back to me. Never let the truth get in the way of a good exaggeration, eh? So what are you doing over here?”

“I decided I better arm myself for Sophie’s arrival,” Lindsay said, unwrapping her package and waving it under Helen’s nose.

“Yeuuch! That’s disgusting. Take it away, you revolting little toerag. And don’t tell me what it’s for,” she warned.

“It’s a peace offering.”

“A peace offering? Bloody hell, Lindsay, I know they do things differently in California, but I didn’t realize the sex was that bizarre!”

“It’s for Sophie’s collection,” Lindsay said, casting her eyes upwards in mock exasperation.

“I know that. So, you finished over at Monarch, then?”

“I’m finished. Don’t take it personally, but I really don’t want to talk about it just now. This is one of those cases where the more I find out, the less I know. And now I come to think about it, what are you doing walking around the streets instead of looking important in your office?”

Helen scowled like a child caught playing truant. “I reached the point where if I’d stayed there a minute longer, even you wouldn’t have been able to get me off a murder charge. Come on, I’ll treat you to something long and cold and you can listen to me moan.” Without waiting for an answer, Helen linked an arm through Lindsay’s and dragged her into a nearby pub which promised air conditioning.

“If you called this air conditioned in California, you’d get lynched,” Lindsay remarked as they stood at the bar. The stale air was admittedly a couple of degrees colder than the street outside, but it reeked of smoke and dead beer.