The struggle was brief, and Lindsay soon threw his slight frame off her. She stuffed the money into the inside pocket of her jacket. “Think of it as insurance,” she said. “In case you were tempted to try anything silly like doing a runner. I’ll be back tomorrow, with your money.”

“You can’t do this,” he howled, tears in his eyes.

“Who’s going to stop me?” she asked calmly. “Going to call the cops, Alex?”

He looked at her with pure hatred in his eyes. “I thought you were okay,” he panted. “But you’re another bitch like the rest of them.”

“Afraid so, Alex. I’ll see you tomorrow about twelve. I’ll be back. I promise you. Here’s my address and phone number, if you don’t believe me.” She scribbled on her pad and tore off a sheet which she dropped on the bed, then walked out.

An hour later, Lindsay was driving down the motorway toward Stirling, and beyond that, to Dundee and Mrs. Maxwell. The morning’s business had left her with a nasty taste in her mouth. She had hated being pressed into service on Harry’s account, and she had hated even more having to play the bully to win Alex’s cooperation. God alone knew what Claire would say when she told her he’d have to be paid eventually. But then, if Sophie’s suspicions were right, it wouldn’t be Claire who’d have to pay for her own nemesis.

Thinking of Sophie made Lindsay wish she were with her now. After dropping the still-complaining Harry at Rosalind’s, she had driven back to the flat to ask Sophie if she wanted to come to Dundee with her for the ride. But Sophie had reluctantly declined, explaining she was on call. Lindsay thought wistfully that now she knew how Cordelia had felt all those times she’d been denied Lindsay’s company because of the vagaries of a journalist’s life. Lindsay put a Mathilde Santing tape into the cassette player and turned up the volume. It was all in the past now. Whatever she did to earn a living from now on would give her the freedom to spend time with Sophie. Or whoever, she thought to herself, refusing to count her chickens.

She wasn’t entirely certain why she was still going through with her plan to collect Alison’s papers, except that once she knew the killer’s identity, there might be valuable corroborative evidence there. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to persuade Mrs. Maxwell to hand over the boxes that contained what was left of Alison’s life. Somehow, she didn’t think the truth would be very compelling. If Mrs. Maxwell had convinced herself that Jackie was Alison’s killer, it would take more than Lindsay to change her mind.