LITMIR.BIZ

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I’d be up to my neck in the investigation.

      I glanced into the living room, then walked to the kitchen with the message still playing. Hamlet burst through the cat flap in a haze of black and white fur. I leaned and scooped him into my arms, somewhat against his wishes, and buried my face in his soft belly. He purred grudgingly and wriggled out of my grasp. I gave him food even though he’d have been stuffing his fat face at my indulgent neighbour’s house all evening, grabbed a glass of water, and sat at the kitchen table with my laptop.

      I eventually found it on a website about Derbyshire myths and legends – the story of the Labyrinth, the witches and the initials on the wall, just as Ben Pearson had said. It was classed ‘not verified’. The cave house was also mentioned. It was said to be haunted by a woman as thin as a skeleton, who wailed for her lost lover. I snapped my laptop shut, and rubbed my arms to get rid of the goose pimples. I didn’t believe in ghosts.

      I climbed the steep stairs, Hamlet forming a trip-hazard at my ankles, and tried to resist the compulsion to check the upstairs rooms. I had to stop doing this. I closed my eyes and leant against the wall of my tiny landing. I pictured the noose deep inside the Labyrinth. Straight and empty. That other image flickered at the edge of my consciousness. A young girl hanging. I squeezed my eyes tight shut and forced my fists into my temples. She faded away.

      I poked my head into the chaotic study and the overflowing spare room, glancing up at the ceilings, as always.

Chapter 5

      ‘It’ll be that one.’ Jai nodded at a Georgian building which had a smug look and stood out from the shabbier buildings on the street, as if lit from below. ‘You can just tell it’s stuffed full of fat-cat lawyers.’

      He was right. The weak morning sun shone on a brass plaque which announced, Carstairs, Hamilton and Swift – Patent and Trade Mark Attorneys. I shoved open the heavy door, and we walked into a surprisingly modern reception.

      The receptionist sported the kind of permed hair that surely went out in the eighties, and a badge saying Wendy. I silently applauded Carstairs and Co for employing someone so far from the archetypal Barbie-esque legal receptionist. Her eyes widened at the sight of our ID, and she said, ‘Ooh yes, you’re here to interview the suspects. Let me show you to the conference room.’

      She led us towards an oak panelled door on our right. As she reached for the handle, a woman burst through the front door from the road, swerved, and knocked me in the stomach with a pointed elbow. ‘I need to talk to someone about the cases Peter was handling.’ She had one of those sharp, rodenty faces common in the girls who’d bullied me at school.

      Wendy turned to her with a tight-lipped smile and said, ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’

      I bashed the woman with the oak door as we entered the conference room, and added her to the list of suspects.

      The room wouldn’t have looked out of place in a minor stately home. Hefty books lined the walls and stern, lumpy-nosed old men gazed disapprovingly from gold-framed portraits.

      ‘What did I tell you?’ Jai settled himself on an upright chair facing a Georgian window overlooking the road outside.

      ‘Yeah, you’d be quivering about the charges if you were a client.’ I sat round the corner of the table from Jai, so we weren’t lined up in battle formation, and removed my coat and my special, crazy scarf. It was far too long but my sister, Carrie, had knitted it for me, vowing to keep knitting until she could knit no more, so I wore it even though I had to coil it in a bizarre double loop to avoid it dragging on the floor.

      Wendy returned with coffee and biscuits.

      ‘Do you have a moment?’ I said.

      She put her tray on the table and puffed up like a courting bird. ‘Yes, of course.’

      ‘We were just wondering what Peter Hamilton was like to work with?’

      ‘Oh, he was very nice. Such a shame. He was the nicest of the three partners. The other two can be terribly difficult. Although poor Peter had been somewhat moody recently.’

      I caught Jai’s eye. You take over, and charm some dirt out of her. He stepped in beautifully, with a sympathetic smile and an intimate tone. ‘You must have to put up with a lot. So Peter Hamilton had been a bit moody?’

      ‘Only in the last six months or so. Snapping at me about things.’

      ‘Have you any idea why?’

      ‘Not really. They all get very stressed. And of course the other two partners—’

      ‘That’s Felix Carstairs and Edward Swift?’

      She nodded. ‘Yes, they were concerned about Peter.’

      ‘What makes you say they were concerned?’ Jai was good. Wendy rested one leg and leant against the door frame as if she was chatting to a friend.

      ‘They’ve been having meetings, just the two of them. Between you and me, I think they were trying to get rid of him.’ She took a tiny in-breath as if realising the implications of what she’d said. ‘Oh, no, not like that. I mean, trying to get him to leave the firm. I think Peter was behind with his work. Apparently Edward was snooping through his files when he was on holiday. Edward’s a funny one though. A little bit on the spectrum, if you know what I mean.’

      ‘The autistic spectrum?’

      ‘A teensy bit.’ She held fingers up to give a visual representation of teensy, and lowered her voice. ‘And make sure you ask Felix about StairGate.’

      Jai leant forward to encourage her, and spoke quietly. ‘What was that?’

      ‘Oh, it’s just what we called it. Like Watergate, you know, but it all happened on the stairs out there. Felix was shouting at Peter and then it was terrible – Peter fell.’ She took a step towards us and whispered. ‘We think Felix must have pushed him.’

      ‘Really?’ Jai’s tone was conspiratorial.

      ‘Oh yes, Felix isn’t the easiest man. He ran over a cat in the car park out the back and he didn’t seem upset at all.’

      ‘That’s not good.’ Jai sat back.

      I put Felix to the front of my list of suspects, ahead of pointy-elbowed-woman. ‘And who’s that in Reception?’

      Wendy looked like she’d eaten vinegar. ‘The one that’s having a tantrum because her patent attorney had the cheek to die on her? That’s Lisa Bell. I think she’s part of the problem. I heard one of the secretaries saying Peter had been undercharging her, and the other partners weren’t happy.’

      So that was the client Hamilton’s wife had mentioned. Lisa something. Could he have been having an affair with her? It would take a brave man to tackle that woman.

      An assertive knock rattled the door, and a man strode in like he owned the place, which he possibly did.

      Wendy jumped. ‘Oh, I’d best get back.’

      The man held out his hand. ‘Felix Carstairs.’ He sat opposite Jai, round the corner of the table from me, and spread himself out, stealing space in an alpha-male kind of way. I could practically see Jai’s hackles rising, but there was nothing overtly offensive about the man. He had a symmetrical face and the sleek plumpness of a well-groomed show pony.

      ‘Terrible news about poor Peter.’ He spoke with the slow diction of those brought up to think everyone listened to them. Whereas I’d learnt to spit it out quick before someone interrupted.

      ‘Yes, terrible,’ I said. ‘Do you mind if we ask you a few questions about him?’

      ‘Of course not. Happy to help.’ Felix smiled, his confidence cocooning him like a magic cloak. He was the kind of person everyone had assumed I would meet at Cambridge,

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