“If you’ll just hold the line, I’ll look it up for you,” the secretary replied. Moments later, she was back. “The Hotel Miramar,” she said.

“Thank you so much,” Lindsay gushed. “I don’t suppose you know if they’re open all year round, do you? Only, I was thinking we might go next winter.”

“I’ve no idea, I’m afraid. But Mr. Mottram was there for the first fortnight in October, so they’re definitely open then.”

“Thank you. Oh, I’m so pleased you were able to help me. So nerve-racking, isn’t it, going on holiday when you don’t know what the place is like? Thanks again.” Gratefully, Lindsay put the phone down.

Five minutes later, she was talking to the manager of the Hotel Miramar. “We met a couple while we were on the island last year, and we wanted to get in touch with them, but foolishly, I’ve lost their address: I wondered if you could help me?”

“Certainly, madam,” the crisp English voice replied. “Can you tell me their names and when they were staying?”

Within two minutes, she had eliminated Donald Mottram from her inquiries, making a mental note to ask Claire for expenses to cover the damage she was doing to Sophie’s phone bill.

Lindsay glanced at her watch. It was still only half past eleven. Maybe she should ring Ruth and set up a meeting with her and Antonis? She’d already cleared with Sophie the possibility of inviting them round to the flat for dinner. She was almost looking forward to putting her chief suspects under the microscope.

Before she could do anything more, the phone rang. “Hello?” she said.

“Can I speak to Lindsay, please?”

“It’s me, Blair,” Lindsay said, recognizing his voice instantly.

“Hi. Listen, I think I’ve got something for you. I was on the night shift again last night, so I took the opportunity to go through the credits book,” he said, referring to the ledger that sat on the newsdesk, where the names of freelances and tipsters to whom the paper owed money for stories or information were entered. “Our blue-eyed chief reporter wasn’t giving anything away about his sources, so I thought the book might hold a clue.”

“But surely they wouldn’t be daft enough to credit anyone for the story? They must have known the police or the Special Branch would be all over them after a leak like that,” Lindsay protested.

“You’re right. But the guy would have to be paid somehow, wouldn’t he? So I looked very carefully through the credits for the last few days, and I think I might have cracked it.”

Lindsay felt the adrenaline coursing through her. Good old Blair! He was like a terrier with a rat when he got his teeth into something. “Go on,” she said eagerly, grabbing a pen and notepad.