Claire’s eyebrows rose. “Cordelia didn’t seem to think you’d expect to be paid,” she said coolly. “But I’m used to paying for professional services. In return, I expect full reports on what you are doing.” Claire opened her briefcase and swiftly wrote a check for £700. She handed it to Lindsay with a look of contempt.

“That goes without saying,” Lindsay replied. She glanced at the check and noted it was drawn on the JM Defense Account. Claire might be happy to splash out on maintaining her own high-flying image, but clearly a private detective wasn’t considered a designer accessory, Lindsay thought with a spurt of anger. She took a deep breath before she spoke. “Now, before we go any farther, I want you to tell me everything you know about the events leading up to the murder.” Lindsay took a notebook out of her shoulder bag to take down Claire’s words in her rusty shorthand.

Claire took a deep breath and went back to her vantage point at the window. “We’d been having a difficult time. We’d been together just over five years, and I suppose we’d started taking each other for granted. I had only recently been made a partner in my firm, and I was bringing a lot of work home. And Jackie was busier than ever. So many new magazines have been launched in the last couple of years, and they’re all hungry for strong, well-written features. But I was too absorbed in my own problems to notice the strain she was under. I suppose that was Alison’s appeal for her. Alison was in the same business, and they could talk shop together. I know Jackie had a lot of professional respect for Alison.” Claire sighed deeply and walked across to a tray with a decanter and glasses. She poured herself a careful inch of Scotch, turning to Lindsay and saying, “Sure you won’t have one?”

Lindsay shook her head. “Go on,” she probed.

Claire paced the floor. “It was the old, old story. I was the last to know. It had apparently been going on for about two months when I found out.”

“How did you find out?” Lindsay asked gently. She couldn’t help herself. Even with a woman she instinctively disliked so much, she still slipped straight into the persona of the professionally sympathetic interviewer.

“I usually went to bed before Jackie. One night, I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to make myself a cup of cocoa. I came through from the bedroom and I could hear Jackie’s voice. It wasn’t that I was eavesdropping, I just couldn’t help overhearing. She was clearly having an intimate conversation with someone . . .” Claire’s voice tailed off, and she traced the pattern on the crystal glass with one long fingernail.

“What made you think it was the sort of intimate conversation you have with lovers?” Lindsay probed.