Charlie looked like a dog with two bones. “That’s tremendous,” he enthused. “That gives me a great line for Sunday—‘Prime Suspect Spots Mystery Figure.’ ”

“Gee, thanks, Charlie. Couldn’t you really stitch me up instead?” Lindsay asked ironically.

He had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. Just got a bit carried away. I’ll tone it down a bit, promise. Now, was it a man or a woman you saw? Think,” he urged.

“No idea, really. It was something I caught out of the corner of my eye, that’s all. Is that a new Chronicle, by the way?”

“Yup,” he confirmed. “A bundle of them just appeared in the bar. I grabbed a handful for my delegation, since they’ll vanish like snowflakes in a sauna soon as the word gets round. D’you want one?” He thrust a copy at her. “Wild, isn’t it? I wish I could get to whoever was doing it.”

Lindsay ignored him, absorbed in the front page of the Conference Chronicle Ehening Supplement.

Now that Lindsay Gordon’s been alibied by her mysterious stranger, who turns out to be yet another of the USA Meeja Studies Mafia, police will have to make at least a pretence of looking elsewhere for their killer. Unless of course Desmond Joyce changes his mind about the accuracy of his fake Rolex.

Conference Chronicle’s spies report a signal lack of regret about the departure of Union Jack, a man whose recent popularity had plunged so low he made Arthur Scargill look like the Queen Mum. Street talk says Union Jack has left AMWU in administrative chaos. But the word is that deputy general secretary Handy Andy Spence is more than fit for the big man’s shoes, and now that Union Jack is out of the way and can’t throw any more spanners in the works or wobblers in the office, there is sure to be a complete and inescapable investigation of the Union’s troubled finances.

So if you were one of the ones who felt safe from scrutiny while Union Jack was still holding the reins, better start sweating. Conference Chronicle knows who the guilty are. But since the guilty don’t know who Conference Chronicle is, there’s nowhere to post the used fivers, is there?

Before she could finish reading, Sophie’s voice insinuated itself into her consciousness with its best bedside manner.

“Lindsay, the man’s asking you a question. You’re wasting his five minutes.”

“Sorry. What was that, Charlie?”

“Will you be going to his funeral?”

Lindsay mentally shook her head in disbelief. Now she was out of it, it was hard to fathom how she’d done a job like Charlie’s for so many years.