As if that wasn’t bad enough, she didn’t have the faintest idea what to do next. But if six years in California had taught her anything, it was that there weren’t many problems that couldn’t be eased by some judicious retail therapy. For some, that took the form of trawling the department stores and boutiques for designer clothes at charity shop prices. For others, the gourmet food stores were the fount of all comfort. For Lindsay, shopping paradise took the form of second-hand book and CD stores, where she could browse for hours, then emerge with some obscure gem that cost next to nothing. It didn’t matter when Sophie pointed out that in the time she had taken to find that single specimen, Lindsay could have written an article that would have earned enough to buy a dozen brand-new CDs or hardback books. The hunt was the fun as much as the purchase, and fun was what Lindsay needed in her present mood.

However, given Sophie’s decidedly stiff manner on the phone the previous evening, Lindsay realized a serious peace offering was going to be required at the airport when Sophie arrived the following week. There was nothing more calculated to win her round than some obscure object to add to her collection of historic obstetric instruments. Lindsay could hardly look at them without wincing and crossing her legs, but they fascinated Sophie. And if her memory served her well, one of the antique shops in Camden catered for such perverse tastes. Lindsay could find something for Sophie, then indulge herself in the second-hand stores around Camden Lock. And if she was really lucky, maybe the logical part of her brain, left in peace, would come up with a possible new direction for her investigation.

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.”