I got to my feet. I might still be able to learn more from Neil, but I’d had enough for one helping. “Thanks for the info,” I said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.” I wasn’t bullshitting, either. Neil’s reminder of Jett’s quick mood changes niggled in my mind like biscuit crumbs in the bed. I almost missed his parting remarks.

“You sound like you’re surprised by the catalogue of motives. Listen, I thought journos were backstabbers till I got into rock. Just don’t run into any of them in a dark alley.”

With Neil’s gypsy warning ringing in my ears, I stood in the hall

That’s not the kind of message you argue with. Not if your boss is a foot taller than you.

Chapter   21

I made it back to the office in record time. The driver of the traffic car I’d zipped past at 110 m.p.h. had clearly been convinced he’d been hallucinating since he didn’t get on my tail with sirens blasting. I dumped the car on a single yellow outside the chemist’s shop, left the note that says, “picking up urgent prescription” on the dashboard and hit the stairs running.

I burst through the outer door, red-faced and sweating. Very chic. Shelley looked me up and down and shook her head in a mockery of disapproving motherhood. “Three deep breaths,” she told me. “Then you’re wanted in there.” She gestured with her head at Bill’s closed office door.

“What’s going on?” I demanded in a stage whisper. I know just how thin the walls in this place are.

“The cops raided Billy Smart’s warehouse this morning. The place was clean as a whistle,” Shelley replied, her voice so low I had to lean close and risk my crowns on her Rasta beads.

“Oh shit,” I sighed. “So who …?”

“Bill’s having a postmortem with Clive Abercrombie from the jewelers’ group and DI Redfern. He’s been stalling them till you got here.”

Some days I wish I did something simple for a living. Like brain surgery. I flashed a hopeless smile at Shelley, made a throat-cutting gesture and headed for the Spanish Inquisition.

Tony Redfern was sitting on the broad window sill, looking more like a depressed golden retriever than ever. Wavy blond hair, soulful brown eyes, drooping mouth. For all I knew, a wet nose too. He nodded gloomily as I entered. Clive Abercrombie leapt smartly to his feet and inclined his head towards me, every inch the

“Sorry to drag you back, Kate,” Bill said. “But we really did need your expertise here.” Translation: Someone’s going to come out of this looking like a prize asshole, and it’s not going to be us.

“I was only down the road. Just routine,” I said.

Tony grinned. “Giving Cliff Jackson a headache, so I hear.”