‘Shoplifting trinkets from stores is not the same thing as suspicion of murder,’ the puzzle-solver said.

‘She’s been doing it since adolescence. It establishes a pattern,’ the comic-reader said.

Spokes could see why their reports were so scant on detail; the two detectives could not agree on what mattered and what didn’t where Saskia Hargrave was concerned. ‘So what are we thinking?’ he asked.

‘I think she is who she says she is – a journalist working on a story,’ the puzzle-solver said.

‘I think she is somewhat obsessed with Emil Coetzee. Perhaps they were once lovers and he jilted her. He has a bit of a deserved reputation in this area,’ the comic-reader said.

‘She visits her mother once a week, for Pete’s sake,’ the puzzle-solver said.

‘And what does that prove?’ the comic-reader asked. ‘She never stays longer than an hour, and it’s not as if her life is full of other things.’

‘When was the last time you visited your mother?’ the puzzle-solver shot back.

‘Isn’t there a husband? I thought there was a husband. A Norman Hargrave,’ Spokes said.

‘Left her recently,’ the puzzle-solver said.

‘Not that she misses him any,’ the comic-reader said. The two officers exchanged a look. ‘A few days ago, when she got home, one of the boys from secret intelligence was waiting for her,’ the comic-reader continued.

‘The white one?’ Spokes asked.

‘No. The black one,’ the comic-reader said.

‘There was nothing to suggest that it was a social call,’ the puzzle-solver said.

‘If it had been strictly business, then he would not have stayed overnight,’ the comic-reader said.

‘We have no evidence that he did,’ the puzzle-solver said.

The two officers shared yet another long look, and Spokes decided that he had seen and heard enough. ‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ he said.

‘It’s been weeks, sir,’ the puzzle-solver said. ‘She more or less does nothing out of the ordinary. Do you want us to carry on with our surveillance? I’m not sure we will learn anything new.’

‘She’s definitely hiding something,’ Spokes said as he stepped out the car. ‘We’ll stop following her when we find out what it is.’

It had not been Spokes’s intention to do so, but once he crossed the street, he decided that he might as well go to the Main Public Library. If there was nothing, then there was nothing. If there was something … well, then that would be something.

‘Good afternoon, Madam,’ Spokes said, removing his hat.

Even though he had greeted her and she had heard him, the ancient head librarian did not respond but simply looked at him from over the rims of her spectacles. Her pallid face had long since set itself into a permanent look of absolute displeasure, and even the rouge and powder she applied had given up on lending her a softer look.