“Of course.”

Danvers put down the ballpoint pen he had been clicking for the past few minutes. “I do hope you realize the seriousness of the situation, Ms. Melnic,” he said. “You must be aware that, even as a civilian consultant attached to a multinational policing operation, you are in a unique position, both because of your special skills and, what shall we call it, your personal acquaintance with the area under investigation. Because of what you know.”

Area under investigation, Zelda thought. That was a nice way of putting what she had been through at the hands of people she now worked hard to identify and put away. Talk about English understatement.

“Much of the information you deal with every day is highly secret,” Danvers went on, “and Mr. Hawkins was a high-ranking officer of the National Crime Agency, as you know, with strong connections to the security services. You signed the Official Secrets Act. Surely you must be aware of what that means? When something like this happens—whatever the reason—we have a duty to investigate the circumstances. It’s also clear that you have lived a somewhat peripatetic and bohemian existence. There are many gaps, many periods during which . . . well . . . anything could have happened. People change. Loyalties change.”

Zelda nodded. “Things certainly did happen, to put it mildly. But my loyalties didn’t change. I understand what you’re saying. I just can’t help you, that’s all. For a start, I wasn’t even in this country most of my life, and for another thing, I’ve already told you, I’m very part-time here. If you believe that Mr. Hawkins was murdered, then I wish you the best of luck with your investigation. If you think that his loyalties had changed, then I can’t help you with that. He didn’t confide in me. As far as I could tell, he was a good man.” Zelda hoped her nose wasn’t growing as she spoke, that the itch she felt there was just an itch.

The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that putting a pot of oil on the stove was something that would never have entered Hawkins’s mind, even if he had been drinking. And no doubt the ensuing fire would have obliterated any evidence there may have been as to what had really happened.

“Did you ever notice, in the times you were here lately, anything unusual about Mr. Hawkins’s behavior?” Danvers asked.

“I can’t say that I did.”

“When were you last here?”

“April. A month ago exactly.”

“Did you notice any changes in his behavior, his routine?”

“No. As far as I could tell, Mr. Hawkins was a creature of habit.”

“Did you ever have any disagreements with him?” Deborah asked.

“No. I simply got on with my job. To be honest, it didn’t involve working closely with others. Or with Mr. Hawkins. Mostly I examined photographs, CCTV and video footage. Sometimes out in the field, but mostly here, at my desk.”