Now this “Black Hope” manuscript appears to have gone missing. We have written to Cordelia Brown several times but we have had no reply. A white sympathizer in Johannesburg has tried to telephone, but all she ever gets is an answering machine, and her messages have not been returned. I am turning to you in the hope that you can help us trace Mary’s book, for hers is a story that must be told to the world. She was very reluctant to show her work to anyone over here, for our protection, she said. But I had read a little of the book, and I know that its dramatic power and force will strike a blow against the white supremacists who keep my people in chains.

I know you lead a busy life, but I beg you to help us make sure that Mary and Joshua have not died in vain.

The rest of the letter consisted of instructions to Alison on how to make contact with Anisha and her friends to report any progress.

Sophie could hardly believe her eyes. She turned back to the first page and hastily read the letter again. Then she picked up her copy of Ikhaya Lamaqhawe. No wonder Cordelia had caught so authentically the flavor of life in South Africa, she thought bitterly. Hastily, she got to her feet and dashed out of the study. Lindsay would never need her more than she needed her now.

Sophie found Lindsay in the lounge, carefully sliding a glass into a paper bag. “What are you doing?” she asked, bemused by the seemingly bizarre behavior.

“This is Cordelia’s glass,” Lindsay explained calmly. “Jim will need to compare her prints with the thumbprint on the glass in Alison’s flat.”

Sophie almost panicked at Lindsay’s coolness. She had expected rage, hurt, tears, and recriminations. Not this studied calm. She struggled to find words that would give Lindsay the support she needed. “You think Alex was right?” she asked cautiously.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” Lindsay said bitterly. “There’s only one explanation for that letter, isn’t there? Cordelia was so desperate to have another literary success that she stole a dead woman’s work. She must have thought that she was the only person who knew about Mary Nkobo’s manuscript. You’ve read Anisha’s letter—Mary hadn’t shown anything other than small excerpts to anyone over there. And when Cordelia found out that somehow Alison had uncovered her deception, she panicked.” Lindsay let out a long, shuddering sigh. “I can’t take it in, Sophie. Cordelia as Alison’s killer? It had never even crossed my mind. I was so convinced it was either Claire or Ruth.” She carefully put the bag down on the table then threw herself down on the sofa.