While the waitress took orders from another table, then went off to get the wine, Zelda came to a decision. She took the best photo she had of Keane and his girlfriend from her bag and set it on the table. When the waitress returned with her glass, she said, “Have you been working here long?”

If the waitress was surprised by Zelda’s question, she didn’t show it. “Three years,” she said.

Zelda showed her the photograph. “Could you please tell me if you recognize either of these people?”

The waitress frowned. Zelda was expecting to be put on the spot, asked why she wanted to know, or some such thing, and she had a weak answer prepared, but it didn’t happen. The waitress simply plonked her wine down, then bent slightly to look at the photo.

“They used to come in here,” she said finally. Then, “Why do you want to know?”

“She’s an old friend, and we’ve lost touch,” Zelda said. “This was taken a while ago, and she seems to have moved since then. I don’t have a forwarding address. I recognized the sign outside, and I was just wondering . . .” Zelda held her breath, fearing the waitress was going to ask her why she had something that looked very much like a surveillance photograph.

She didn’t. “Sorry, but she’s not in today,” she said. “She does come in from time to time. You might catch her if you come back tomorrow. Or I could give her a message to contact you next time she comes in?”

“What time does she usually come in?”

“Around six-ish, maybe once every week or so. She works at Foyles, just around the corner.”

So Zelda had simply had the bad luck to miss her on those times she had sat watching from the pub across the street. “And her boyfriend?”

“Haven’t seen him for ages. I think they must have split up. Would you care to leave a message?”

“No,” said Zelda. “Thank you very much, but no. I’d rather surprise her.”

“Suit yourself.”

The waitress walked off, casting a puzzled and suspicious backward glance. Zelda felt her heart beating fast. It was partly the thrill of finding the courage to play detective and partly the sweet smell of success. She had found her. Found Keane’s girlfriend. She had been about to ask the waitress if she knew the woman’s name, but realized that, having passed herself off as a friend, such a request would hardly seem necessary. At least she now knew where the woman worked.