Tamar’s eyes widened. “Well, it wasn’t Jett. But then, you know that, don’t you?” she added, her voice heavy with irony.

“Leaving Jett aside, you must have given the matter some thought,” I pressed her.

She got to her feet and dumped her dishes in the dishwasher. With her back to me, she said, “Gloria is a very stupid woman, you know. Stupid enough to think she’s bright enough to get away with murder, if you understand me.” I caught the reflection of Tamar’s face in the kitchen window. There was a tight smile on her lips.

She turned back to face me, her expression wiped clean. “Why don’t you ask her what she was doing running upstairs just before one o’clock?”

I could feel the pulse in my throat. “What do you mean?”

“I heard someone running upstairs. I was coming through from my bathroom, so I stuck my head round the door. I saw Gloria’s door closing. What was she up to? You’re the detective. Maybe you should ask her.”

Chapter   23

Tamar swept off to make herself fit for company after that final pleasantry, leaving me rejoicing at the prospect of another friendly little chat with Gloria. Luckily, I didn’t have to scour the shopping centers of the north west for her. She was in her office, beating up her word processor as if the keyboard had my face on it.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “I just wondered where I might find Kevin.”

“He’s got a suite in the west wing,” she said pompously, not even breaking her rhythm. “Bedroom, bathroom, lounge and office. Turn left at the top of the stairs, then left again. The office is the double doors on the right. But you probably won’t find him there at this time of day. He’s more likely to be out and about.”

“Thanks. Oh, one other thing. When I asked you about your movements, you didn’t mention that you’d gone downstairs again after you went up to bed.”

That brought her frenzied typing to a halt. “I never did,” Gloria denied vehemently, her chin thrust out like a defiant child. “Anyone who says I did is a liar.” She’d gone that ugly puce again.

“Are you sure?” I asked mildly.

Her lips seemed to tighten and shrink. “Are you accusing me of lying?” she challenged.

“No. I simply wondered if it might have slipped your mind.”

“It couldn’t have slipped my mind if I’d never done it, could it?”

I shrugged and said, “See you around, Gloria.” I walked slowly up the stairs, pondering on her reaction. If I were Neil, I’d be laying odds of 2–1 that she’d been lying. Which meant one of two things. Either she was the killer, or she thought she was protecting