“Don’t give it the wrong fucking way! You’ve just basically told me you like hurting me and being forgiven because we’re not truly close and it’s the best you can hope for.”

“I was talking about Paula Privilege and Damon Blundy.”

“But not only about them. Before, you said—”

“I’m not having a row with you now, Charlie. I just meant . . . those emotional highs and lows—attack, forgive, attack, forgive—they’re a form of passion, aren’t they?”

Charlie said nothing.

“I need you to find out some more things for me,” said Simon.

“No.”

“Find out if Adam Clements, Nicki’s husband, has got an alibi for Monday morning. Also, you know I said find out about Melissa Redgate’s driving and if she’s got a car? Don’t ask Melissa herself—ask Nicki Clements. Let me know how she reacts. And then—”

Charlie missed the end of his sentence. That’ll happen if you hang up on someone, she thought. Oh well.

She clicked on the Safari icon on her computer screen and typed “Intimate Links” into the search box when it appeared. She’d had an idea. Well, two, really. She could advertise for a new husband: must be a genius detective, appallingly insensitive, badly dressed but, crucially, sexually uninhibited.

And . . . Or . . .

She could write and post an advertisement that would make sense to no one but Damon Blundy’s killer, or to someone who knew something about the murder. Would Proust or anybody at the station find out she’d done it? Hard to say. It was unlikely that it would attract any useful information, but it was worth a try. And to do it without Simon’s permission . . . that would be nearly as much fun as advertising for a hornier husband, and less marriage-threatening.

The “Men Seeking Women” section of the site was the right place to put her advert, she decided. Hannah Blundy, Melissa Redgate, Nicki Clements and Paula Riddiough were all women. If they were looking on Intimate Links at all, chances were this page would be where they’d look.

Would they be looking, though? It was impossible to know. Nicki and Melissa had both looked in the past . . .

It was the longest of long shots, but Charlie felt like giving it a try. She felt like doing something different. And—yes—something she shouldn’t do—risky and utterly forbidden.

Fuck Simon.

Charlie clicked on the “Compose a Personal Ad” button and a new box appeared. In the subject heading, she typed, “Looking for a Woman with a Secret,” and found herself grinning. She was going to enjoy this.

“WAS YOUR FATHER REALLY a professional gambler?” Gibbs asked Reuben Tasker, casting his eye over the “About the Author” paragraph on the jacket flap of Craving and Aversion. “I mean, was that his day job?”