Harper looked through her binoculars at the woman, who was very pale and dressed in a long black T-shirt dress and flip-flops. Probably in her early twenties, the woman seemed as if she’d been crying, and her dark hair was greasy and limp. But, it was clear she was a naturally beautiful girl, even with puffy eyes and without make-up.

“I think this must be a friend of Mr Tranter’s.”

“She doesn’t look too friendly to me,” said Amy, before popping a walnut into her mouth and crunching down on it. Patrick appeared at the office door and pushed it open. He walked across the car park towards the woman and stopped several metres away from her, his fists shoved deep in his pockets. “She looks as if she might scratch his eyes out.”

“Who do you think she is?” said Harper, lowering the binoculars.

“Why don’t we find out? Let’s do a stroll-by.”

“Oh, I can’t. He knows me.”

“I’ll go,” said Amy, and hopped out of the car before Harper could protest. She skipped jauntily down the road in her huge sunglasses, curls bouncing, and for a long moment Harper took her eyes off the couple and watched the journalist. By the time Harper returned her attention to Patrick and the mystery woman, they were on the move too: he had her by the arm, and was escorting her along the road, towards where Harper was sitting in her car. They passed Amy without so much as a glance, but a split second later Patrick’s head snapped up sharply as he recognised Harper’s car. She turned her face away but it was too late; she’d been seen.

She closed her eyes for a second and swore under her breath, hoping that Patrick wasn’t the kind of man who would report her to the boss.

* * *

“He says you were harassing him,” said Thrupp.

“That’s a bit strong,” said Harper. “I was just sitting in my car. What evidence does he have?”

“He says he saw you drive by his house yesterday, and then today you were watching him at his place of work. Is it true?”

“No. Well, yes. I did drive by, yesterday and today. But I wouldn’t call it harassment. It doesn’t meet the criteria. I was doing police work, general investigation, information gathering. He’s a person of interest.”

“A person of interest? To a case I have already told you is not a case?”

“He was behaving suspiciously.”

“Fortunately for you, Mr Tranter isn’t interested in pressing charges or making a formal complaint.”

Harper pulled a face. Of course he wouldn’t press charges—there wasn’t nearly enough to make a case that would stand up in court.

“But I think, for you, an internal disciplinary is now in order. You were warned.”

Harper was silent, awaiting her fate. She felt surly, like a kid in the headmaster’s office.

“You’re desk bound, Joanna. No going out, not even to get lunch. You can go to the canteen like everyone else.”