How about a cuppa? I’m free now xx

At first, Harper wondered if Amy had made a mistake, if she’d meant to send the message to someone else. Then she thought, don’t be stupid, of course she sent it to the right person. That was just Amy’s style—she wouldn’t have even noticed that a week had passed, or for a moment suspected that Jo had been waiting pathetically for this text. Harper debated with herself how long she ought to leave it before sending a response. She lasted about thirty seconds.

Great. I’m on a job, but it must be time for a break.

Ooo anything good?

Surveillance. Nothing doing though. Where shall we meet?

Tell me where you are, I’ll come to you. Exciting!

Before she could think about it properly she fired off the street name in reply—but as soon as she pressed Send she wanted to take the message back. She had parked on a side street in town, in a spot within sight of the office of a company called Strategy Outsource Marketing. Patrick Tranter’s car had been in the car park there for the past fifteen minutes. She really wasn’t sure if she wanted to explain to Amy how she’d come to be there, or exactly what job she was on. Ah, maybe she won’t ask, thought Harper.

Ten minutes later, Amy knocked on the passenger-side window.

“Darling,” she said, and when she’d settled herself inside and handed Harper a hot cup of coffee, “what’s happening? Who are we looking for?”

The perfume Amy wore was sweet and floral, something like lily of the valley. Harper thanked her for the coffee, a feeble effort at stalling.

“Well?” said Amy, not acknowledging the thanks.

“I’m just keeping an eye on, um, someone. Someone’s car, anyway. He’s gone inside that building.”

“A suspect?” said Amy, blowing into the hole in the top of the takeaway cup. She rummaged in her bag, brought out a packet of walnuts and offered one to Harper, which she took.

“Not really a suspect, more a person of interest.”

Amy lowered her coffee and gave Harper a hard stare. “What are you doing, Joanna? You absolutely have to tell me. I won’t leave until you do.”

There was a pause. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you …”

“So tell me.”

Harper thought about it. It was so pleasurable to give Amy new gossip; Harper could picture the way her face would be lit from within as she leaned in to listen. But, from twenty years of service Harper was hard-wired to keep police business to herself. As Amy waited, she tapped her shiny blue nails on the gearstick. Harper’s professional reluctance to share fell away. This wasn’t actually, after all, official police business anymore.

“You have to promise not to say anything,” said Harper.

Amy mimed zipping her mouth shut.

“I mean it, Amy. If anyone finds out about this, I won’t just be slapped on the wrist. I could be in real trouble.”