“I thought we covered the ground yesterday afternoon, Inspector. Besides, I’ve been a little busy this morning with your colleagues in the Greater Manchester force. If you’d like to check with Detective Inspector Redfern …”

“I’m a busy man, Miss Brannigan, and I’m in the middle of a murder inquiry. When I make appointments, I expect them to be kept.”

His dignity had obviously taken more of a bruising than I’d realized after Kevin’s entry yesterday. Time to smarm. “I appreciate that, Inspector. Perhaps we could make it another time?”

“How soon can you get round here?”

“I’m really sorry, Inspector. But I’m tied up for the rest of the day. Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow morning, same time,” he snapped. Obviously he didn’t feel he could push it. I suppose I should have felt relieved I wasn’t actually a suspect.

“That’s a date,” I promised. “Sorry about today, it went clean out of my mind with the other business. By the way, have you charged Maggie Rossiter yet?”

There was a silence. Then he said stiffly, “Miss Rossiter was released at eight-thirty this morning.” The line went dead.

Surprise, surprise. They’d had their hands on Maggie for thirty-six hours and they hadn’t been able to manufacture enough of a case to hang on to her. I flicked open my notebook and called her number. She answered on the third ring. “Maggie? Kate Brannigan here. I’ve just heard that you’d been released, and I wanted to tell you how pleased I was.”

She cut in, her voice remote and cool. “Yes, well, I owe that to Moira.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My next-door neighbor, Gavin, picked up the post this morning. He noticed a letter to me in Moira’s handwriting. It was posted second class the night she was killed. She must have dropped it in the box on her way to meet me. She was like that, you know. Thoughtful, romantic, even. Take it from me, it’s not the letter of someone who’s splitting up with her lover.”

“So Gavin got it to your solicitor, did he?”

“That’s right. He’s got a friend with a fax machine, so he opened it and sent it straight over to my solicitor. She brought it round to the police station right away.”

And of course, with no motive, the police case collapsed. They had nothing at all to base a charge on. No wonder Jackson was looking for someone to kick.

“Thank God that’s over,” I said.

“Don’t be too sure,” she replied glumly. “I got the distinct impression that they haven’t given up on the idea of pinning it on me. Let’s face it, if they can’t stick it on the dyke or the black, they’ll be less than happy. I’d make sure you’re covering your client’s back, if I was you, Kate.”