Lindsay sat on the edge of a luxurious black leather swivel-and-tilt chair and tried the drawers of the massive black ash desk. They were locked. Of course, the police would presumably have had Union Jack’s keys. They wouldn’t have had to bust open his expensive desk. And she didn’t want to if she could avoid it. “Sophie?” she called.

“Problems?” came the reply.

“Are the drawers in that desk open?”

There was a brief pause while Sophie experimented. “All except the bottom one. Why?”

Lindsay returned to the outer office. “Any keys in them? I’m looking for a key that would unlock a serious desk.”

“Help yourself,” Sophie said, returning to the menu on her screen. Lindsay searched the top drawer, with no result. Then she felt the underside of the drawer.

She let out a satisfied sigh. “Oldest trick in the book,” she said, pulling the key away, complete with the Sellotape that had held it in place. “I don’t know, some days it’s just all too easy.”

Back in Tom Jack’s office, she slipped the key into the lock that held all three drawers on the left-hand side shut. It turned effortlessly, and Lindsay started her search. The top drawer contained stationery, a couple of half-used pads with scribbled notes from committee meetings, pens, pencils and paperclips. The second drawer held three loose-leaf folders crammed with press clippings about Tom Jack and his role as general secretary of AMWU. There were also a few computer discs and a contacts book, which Lindsay slipped into her bag for later.

The third drawer was filled with an assortment of document wallets. The first few contained details of union-management disputes which Lindsay soon discovered involved Tom Jack himself. They had all been resolved, not exclusively to the greater good of the AMWU members, but there was nothing contentious enough in any of them to lead to threats, never mind murder.

The next said on its cover SIGS. It contained a bizarre assortment of documents. There were photostats of membership applications for the former Journalists’ Union, some going back more than twenty years. There were nomination forms for JU lay officials’ posts, properly filled in and signed by the appropriate branch officers. There were applications for Press passes, photocopies of motions for annual delegate conferences sent in by branches and a few meetings’ attendance sheets. All the documents related to the JU, but there was no other common factor that Lindsay could discern, apart from the fact that they all seemed to be completely in order. Frustrated, she shoved the contents back into the file and continued her burrowing.