At least Gloria had grown out of the silly childishness with the entryphone. This time she let me in right away. I was surprised to find the circle in front of the house crammed with the kind of motors the likes of me don’t even know the price of. Top of the range Mercs, BMWs, even a couple of Porsches. It looked like a march past of Billy Smart’s hire cars. For somebody who was working hard only an hour ago, Jett sure knew how to throw an impromptu party I thought as I opened the front door to a blast of Queen.

I looked uncertainly round the hall, not sure where to start a search for Jett. The music seemed to be coming from everywhere rather than one specific room, though the noise of raised voices was definitely on the left somewhere. I’d just set off on the long walk to what was probably once the ballroom when Tamar

She giggled tipsily as I grabbed at her to steady myself. “Well, well, well,” she gurgled. “If it isn’t our very own Sherlock Holmes. Come to check your burglar alarms, have you? Well, you’ve picked the wrong night.”

I pasted a smile on my tired face. “Why’s that, Tamar?”

“Celebration. World and his dog all celebrating the fact that we’ve finally got one bastard track that everyone’s happy with. Jett’s actually managed to write something that hasn’t put the entire household to sleep.” She hiccuped and pulled away from me to head unsteadily towards the din. “Whoops,” she muttered. “Not supposed to say that to the hired help. Anyway, what exactly are you doing here?” she added, pirouetting so that her sequined jacket sparkled, and fixing me with a bleary stare.

“Jett wanted to see me,” I said. Well, it was more or less true.

“About burglar alarms? At this time of night? Today?” Then the incredulity vanished from her voice, replaced by suspicion. “You’re not really installing a new alarm, are you?”

I shrugged. It wasn’t my job to tell her my business. Apart from the rules of confidentiality, if Jett hadn’t told her what I was doing, I certainly wasn’t about to bring her wrath down on my head. “That fucking bitch,” she swore under her breath. She tossed her expensively tousled hair back from her forehead and stormed down the hall. Curious, I followed her back towards the front door and into the office, where Gloria sat at her word processor, apparently doing the housekeeping accounts, judging by the pile of bills beside her. She glanced up at Tamar, then coolly carried on typing.

“You told me she was here to sort out a burglar alarm,” Tamar accused Gloria, a mottled flush rising from her neck to her cheeks.