I spent what was left of the afternoon back at the office. I’d recorded my notes on tape on the way back from Leeds, so I didn’t even have that to keep me occupied. I hate those spells in an investigation where everything is stalled. I didn’t want to go back to the manor for another confrontation with Jackson. I’d rather wait till tomorrow, when the police presence would have eased off, and the initial shock would have worn off for the inhabitants.

So I did the paperwork on the Smart brothers that had been hanging over me for the last couple of weeks since our clients had passed our dossier on to the police. I was providing them with more details on my surveillance, so they’d be fully prepared for the raid they were planning for some unspecified date in the future when they got their act together. I plowed through my diary for the relevant weeks, and there, in the middle of it all, I found the notes of my search for Moira. I couldn’t help agreeing with Maggie that it was a pity I’d ever found her. Bill had been right. Missing persons’ jobs produce more trouble than they’re worth.

Before I left the office, I helped myself to a couple of Raymond Chandlers and a Dashiell Hammett from Bill’s bookcase. I was going to need all the help I could get, and somehow I had the feeling that wandering down to Waterstone’s for a book on how to solve a murder wasn’t going to be a lot of use.

I got home just after six. For once, my heart sank when I saw Richard’s car outside the house. I wasn’t looking forward to telling him about the secrets I’d been keeping. But I couldn’t hide my involvement in the murder investigation, not without moving out

I decided to get it over with as quickly as possible, so I poured myself a drink and crossed the conservatory. Halfway across, Jett’s first album hit me right between the ears. Richard’s living room was empty, so I followed the music down to his study. He was so absorbed in the screen of his word processor that he didn’t hear me enter.

Over his shoulder, I read, “Moira got her second chance at the dream ticket just six weeks ago when she turned up at Jett’s luxury mansion, a world away from the mean streets where they started off.” I don’t know, even the journalists I trust can’t get their facts right.

I tapped him gently on the shoulder and he glanced up at me with a distracted smile. “Hiya, Brannigan.”

I leaned over and kissed him. “Busy?”