She worried for a moment that she was supposed to be there too, but then remembered Jim telling her it was safest she stay at the office in case Croft got nasty. Despite her excitement at successfully drawing their subject into a sting, she had all but forgotten about the subsequent arrangements, because it had been several days ago and she hadn’t spoken to Jim since Thursday. He had told her he didn’t need her to come in on Friday as he was working on something ‘a wee bit sensitive’ that for reasons of discretion he had to handle alone. Jasmine had tried not to interpret this as actually meaning that it was something he couldn’t afford to have her ballsing up, and gratefully welcomed the prospect of an extra day of doing anything other than blundering around feeling hopelessly out of her depth.

She felt a vibration through the handles of her bag a moment before her ringtone began to play, and reached in to retrieve her phone, expecting to see Jim’s name on the screen. She didn’t: it was an unrecognised number.

Her voice was a little shaky and quiet as she answered, still feeling the effects of being spooked. They didn’t ease at hearing Robert Croft on the other end, and in fact worsened as she learned that the plasterer was calling because he had turned up to the address she had given him only to find there was nobody at home to let him in.

She felt her previous relief contract into a hard little knot. There’s nothing worse for your peace of mind than an irrational spooky fear being given substantive grounds by unfolding events. At least if it turned out she had a sixth sense, it would constitute one thing that might qualify her for being an investigator.

‘I’m really sorry,’ she replied. ‘It’s my uncle … There’s been an emergency and I’ve had to come here and I forgot about waiting in for you.’

Croft’s tone changed from challenge to concern.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ she answered honestly.

‘Well, don’t worry about me. You just let me know when would suit. I take it the job’s still on?’ he enquired, obviously thinking of that thousand-pound bait she’d dangled.

‘Yes. I’ll give you a ring in a few days. I’m really sorry.’

‘Never bother. I hope everything, you know.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, hanging up.

He had bought it, which she could hardly congratulate herself upon, as it was something of a Method performance. Trembly voice, near-apologetic absence of certainty, authentic sense of events having overtaken her schedule. No acting required.