“I need to talk to Paula Riddiough.” Simon stood up. “She lied to me. When I spoke to her on the phone earlier, she said she’d met Blundy twice but couldn’t remember the exact dates, but you wouldn’t forget agreeing to meet on November 11, 2011, at eleven minutes past eleven, would you?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“When she pointed me in the direction of her assistant, she knew what I was going to find out. I reckon she was throwing me a hint deliberately. Toying with me. She wants me to come after her for the real story. She must do.”

“Of course she does.” Charlie laughed. “If there’s one thing about Paula Privilege that’s beyond doubt, it’s that she loves being pursued by men. You need to be prepared to suspect her in a different way from what you’re used to.”

“How do you mean?”

“She might act like someone with a guilty secret just to reel you in and keep you focused on her. Course, I don’t know her personally, but . . .”

“You really think she’d act like a possible murderer in order to get a bit more attention? Most people—”

“Paula Privilege and most people are light-years apart,” said Charlie. “And if that’s not apparent the second you meet her, then it’s not the real her that you’ve met.”

“The person you’re describing sounds like a potential killer,” said Simon.

Charlie thought about it. “Yes,” she said eventually. “I wouldn’t rule that out either.”

“SHE ASKED ME IF I wanted to go back to her place,” said Sellers. “That was all she said: her place. We were in a bar—I assumed her place was a house, a flat . . . somewhere normal.” He sighed and shook his head.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” said Gibbs, keen to hear what was coming next. Being with Liv had made him more curious about other people than he used to be.

He and Sellers were in the Brown Cow, which was busier than usual. Gibbs had noticed that it tended to be packed and noisy whenever he needed to concentrate on an important conversation, and silent and empty whenever he was keen to avoid one. Place should change its name to the Sod’s Law, he thought.

“I’ll tell you, and you can tell Liv—and then can you get her off my back?” said Sellers. “She’s emailed me twice on my work email, asking me how I am and if I’ve got any news. I barely know her!”

Gibbs smiled. He found it hard to be angry with Liv, even when he knew he probably ought to be. “She thinks you should talk to someone about it, whatever it is,” he said. “And thanks to her, you are.”

“Just ask her to leave me alone, all right?”