“Sir, even if I let the police in, I can’t let you in. I can’t let one guest into another guest’s room, and I’m afraid I can’t take your word for it that this woman’s name’s Nicki Clements when she told me it was Kate Zilber.”

Uskalis stared coldly at her. “And I’m telling you it’s not Kate Zilber. I know who Kate Zilber is. She’s a primary-school headmistress from the Culver Valley who snorts cocaine in her car before the school day starts, when she thinks no one’s looking.”

“Sir, with respect—”

“Oh, I’ve had enough of this,” said PC Whelan. She turned and made for the door.

Before Yolanda had a chance to say anything more to him, Mr. Uskalis ran after her.

“KING EDWARD—REUBEN TASKER—didn’t want to tell Nicki who he was because he didn’t enjoy being who he was,” said Simon. “He told Gibbs he got himself off drugs because Damon Blundy’s portrayal of him as a pathetic addict got to him. But I checked—I called his literary agent. Tasker only stopped taking drugs last summer, August 2012, so when he first told Nicki he was Damon Blundy, in October 2011, he was still using. And probably hating himself for it, and wishing Blundy would stop drawing the world’s attention to his addiction via his Daily Herald column. Tasker’s online fling with Nicki was a chance for him to pretend to be someone better. Someone he admired and wished he were.”

“Damon Blundy?” Gibbs sounded incredulous.

“Wait, wait,” said Sellers. “Aren’t you stretching it a bit?”

“One hundred percent Lycra.” Proust yawned. “Not even a Lycra-truth blend, this theory we’re about to hear. Buckle up, boys.”

“Tasker hated Blundy,” said Gibbs. “Badmouthed him all over the show, for criticizing his novels unfairly.”

“Yes, but you’re missing the crucial aspect here,” Simon told him. “Who do we all secretly admire most? Who do we wish we could be, deep down, though we’d never admit it? The people who disdain us and scoff at us! Those so sure they’re superior to us that they don’t mind saying so in a public and witty way. Also, the people who’ve got something on us—they’ve got the power to destroy us. How desperately we’d rather be them, in their privileged pedestal position, than us. Think about it! Think of the envy you’d feel. Remember Tasker published a book this year that Blundy said was much better than his last one? What if he wrote that better book consciously trying to eradicate the pretentiousness Blundy had accused him of? I’d say there’s more than enough evidence that he admired Blundy and might well have wished he were him. There was a similar dynamic in operation between Blundy and his lover, Paula Riddiough—but let’s leave that for now.”