“I can’t deny that would have been the more sensible course,” Jim admitted. “But what’s done is done. And you’ve uncovered some very significant material. I think in Alison Maxwell’s diary alone we have the basis of an appeal.”

Lindsay nodded miserably. “I’ve brought that with me. But I’m afraid I’ve got some more information for you. It should be enough to get Jackie a Queen’s Pardon, never mind to win an appeal.”

His eyebrows rose. “I hope it’s a bit more convincing than that young lad last night. Bit of a blunder, that was, eh?”

“Not really, as it turns out.” Lindsay handed over Anisha’s letter and a printout from Alison’s computer file. She sat in silence while Jim Carstairs read the letter, looking more and more disturbed as he neared the end.

Lindsay deposited the paper bag on his desk, saying, “This is Cordelia’s glass from last night. Maybe you can get the prints checked against the thumbprint that was found in Alison’s flat.”

He sat bolt upright in his chair and for the first time, Lindsay was aware of his acute intelligence as he stared fixedly at her. “Let me get this perfectly clear,” he said slowly. “You are making an accusation against Cordelia Brown in the matter of Alison Maxwell’s murder?”

Lindsay nodded. “That’s right. As you’ve probably gathered, Cordelia and I used to be lovers. We lived together till May last year, when I had to leave the country for a while. At the point when I left, she hadn’t written a word of Ikhaya Lamaqhawe. Yet that book was published in December. Even if her publishers had worked like hell to get it out, it can only have taken her eight weeks to write. Now that’s a nonsense when you look at the quality of the book and the research it must have entailed.”

Jim nodded encouragingly. “Go on,” he urged.

“Looking at Anisha’s letter, it appears that Cordelia stole this Mary Nkobo’s manuscript and published it as hers. Oh, she probably made a few changes here and there, but I suspect that the bulk of it is Mary Nkobo’s work. Unfortunately for everyone, Anisha chose the wrong woman. She only knew Alison Maxwell the journalist. She had no way of knowing she was handing her information to a woman who preferred the pleasures of blackmail to getting a stunning exclusive in the paper. But the very qualities that made Alison such a good journalist also made her a serious threat as a blackmailer.