Zelda started working her way back down again, this time showing the photo to every employee she met. She had no idea how many people worked in Foyles, or how the hierarchy functioned, but one or two people she talked to thought they recognized the woman but just couldn’t place her. Some merely seemed suspicious and were unwilling to help her at all.

Finally, Zelda got lucky on the third floor.

“That looks like Ms. Butler,” said a young girl on her knees, shelving business self-help books.

Zelda’s spirits revived. “Where can I find her?”

The girl’s expression turned guarded. “Who wants to know?” she asked. “And where did this photograph come from?”

“I’d just like to talk to her. That’s all.”

“I wouldn’t want to get her into any trouble.”

“She’s not in any trouble. Honest,” said Zelda, dredging up her best smile.

The girl chewed on her lip for a few moments, then said, “Ms. Butler. Faye. She’s head of our art department. You should find her on the ground floor.”

Hadn’t Banks told her that Keane was involved in the art world when the two of them had crossed swords a few years ago? He had moved on now, if the photograph with Tadić was to be believed, but that didn’t mean he had completely left his earlier interests behind.

“Thanks very much,” said Zelda.

The girl nodded and went back to shelving books. Zelda walked down the stairs to the ground floor. She approached a young man rearranging a stack of books on a table centerpiece and asked if Ms. Butler was around.

“Faye?” said the young man, glancing around. “She was here a few moments ago. Must have nipped into the office. Can I help?”

Zelda smiled sweetly. “No, thank you. I really need to talk to Ms. Butler.”

“OK. Won’t be a jiffy.”

He disappeared through a STAFF ONLY door and reappeared a minute or two later with the young blonde woman in Zelda’s photograph. It had been difficult to tell her age when Zelda had followed her and Hawkins along Oxford Street just before Christmas, but now Zelda saw her in the flesh, she guessed that Faye Butler was probably about the same age as she was. Faye approached, a puzzled expression on her pixie-ish face, and said, “Hello. I’m Faye Butler. Ron here says you want to talk to me.”

“Thanks for seeing me,” Zelda said. “Yes, I’d like to talk to you if you have a few moments to spare.”

“What’s it about?” Faye asked, dismissing Ron with a wave of the hand.

“It’s about Phil Keane. I understand you go out with him, or used to.”

Faye folded her arms. “I don’t know what you want, or who you are, but I’ve never heard of any Phil Keane.”