“Such a blow, Alison’s death. I couldn’t believe it when I heard it. We were so close,” Lindsay said, trying to look woebegone and unthreatening while feeling like a grade one fool.

“Yes, it was a terrible shock,” he replied shortly.

“I didn’t even hear in time to get to the funeral,” she added. “Were you there?”

Mottram shook his head. “No. Like you, we were out of the country at the time. My wife and I were on holiday in Madeira. We got back the day after the funeral.”

Lindsay didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry at his response. It looked as if he was out of the running. One suspect fewer. But she wouldn’t have minded so much if Donald Mottram had been the killer. She didn’t like this smooth accountant whose eyes were fixed greedily on the line of her calf. Hastily, Lindsay uncrossed her legs and got to her feet “Well, Mr. Mottram; I won’t take up any more of your valuable time, and I’ll get that paperwork to you as soon as possible.”

He moved quickly round his desk to escort her to the door, his hand proprietorially on the small of her back. “If you’re going to be in Glasgow for a while, perhaps we could meet for a drink to discuss your future business plans,” he said.

“That would be nice,” she said sweetly. “I’d like to meet your wife again.”

Mottram frowned. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. My wife and I are separated, and she’s living in Samoa.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize,” Lindsay stammered, putting her hand to her mouth to hide her grin.

“I’m not. Sorry, that is,” Mottram said with a predatory smile. “We’d been on the rocks for a long time. The holiday in Madeira was something of a last ditch attempt to get back together again. But it didn’t work out. So I’m footloose and fancy free.”

“I’ll give you a ring about that drink,” Lindsay lied as she made her thankful escape.

Back at the flat, she cleaned the makeup from her face and climbed back into her own clothes, glad to shed the false skin she’d assumed for the interview. It looked as if Donald Mottram was off her list of suspects, but she wanted to make absolutely sure. She called his office and asked to speak to his secretary again, slipping back into the persona of the dizzy woman. “I’m so sorry to bother you again,” she said. “Mr. Mottram was telling me about the wonderful holiday he had in Madeira last year, and I foolishly forgot to write down the name of the hotel he was staying at. It sounded so lovely, I wanted to make a note of it. I don’t suppose you know what it was?”