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that it, then? You come in here, interrupting the creative process, just to tell me nothing’s happening?’

      ‘No, I only gave you the gossip so you wouldn’t complain that I was only here to exploit you,’ I said.

      Alexis blew out a cloud of smoke and a sigh. ‘All right, what do you want to know?’

      ‘Is that any way to speak to a valued contact who’s brought you a story?’ I asked innocently.

      Alexis tipped forward in her seat and crushed out her cigarette in an already brimming ashtray. ‘Why do I have the feeling that this is the kind of gift that takes more assembling than an Airfix kit?’

       3

      I left Alexis to hassle the police of six counties in search of the story we both knew was lurking somewhere and headed back to Mortensen and Brannigan. Shelley was busy on the phone, so I went straight through to my office. I stopped in my tracks on the threshold. I heard Shelley finish her call and swung round to glare at her. ‘What exactly is that?’ I demanded.

      She didn’t look up from the note she was writing. ‘What does it look like? It’s a weeping fig.’

      ‘It’s fake,’ I said through gritted teeth.

      ‘Silk,’ she corrected me absently.

      ‘And that makes it OK?’

      Shelley finally looked up. ‘Every six weeks you buy a healthy, thriving, living plant. Five weeks later, it looks like locust heaven. The weeping fig will have paid for itself within six months, and even you can’t kill a silk plant,’ she said in matter-of-fact tones that made my fingers itch to get round her throat.

       ‘If I wanted a schneid plant, I’d have bought one,’ I said.

      ‘You sound …’

      ‘“Like one of my kids”,’ I finished, mimicking her calm voice. ‘You don’t understand, do you? It’s the challenge. One day, I’m going to find a plant that runs riot for me.’

      ‘By which time the planet will be a desert,’ Shelley said, tossing her head so that the beads she had plaited into her hair jangled like a bag of marbles.

      I didn’t dignify that with a reply. I simply marched into my office, picked up the weeping fig and dropped it next to her desk. ‘You like it so much, you live with it,’ I said, stomping back to my office. If she was going to treat me like one of her teenage kids, I might as well enjoy the tantrum. I pulled the brownish remains of the asparagus fern out of the bin and defiantly dumped it on the windowsill.

      Before I could do anything more, my phone rang. ‘What now?’ I barked at Shelley.

      ‘Call for you. A gentleman who refuses to give his name.’

      ‘Did you tell him we don’t do matrimonials?’

      ‘Of course I did. I’m not the one who’s premenstrual.’

      I bit back a snarl as Shelley put the call through. ‘Kate Brannigan,’ I said. ‘How can I help you?’

      ‘I need your help, Ms Brannigan. It’s an extremely confidential matter. Brian Chalmers from PharmAce recommended you.’

       ‘We’re noted for our client confidentiality,’ I reeled off. ‘As you doubtless know if you’ve spoken to Brian. But I do need to know who I’m talking to.’

      There was a moment’s hesitation, long enough for me to hear sufficient background noise to realize my caller was speaking from a bar. ‘My name’s Trevor Kerr. I think the company I run is being blackmailed, and I need to talk to you about it.’

      ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Why don’t I come round to your office this afternoon and have a chat about it?’

      ‘Christ, no,’ Kerr said, clearly alarmed. ‘The last thing I want is for the blackmailers to find out I’m talking to a private detective.’

      One of the ones that watches too many movies. That was all I needed to make my day. ‘No problem. You come to me.’

      ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. You see, I think they’re watching me.’

      Just when you thought it was safe to pick up the phone … ‘I know how disturbing threats can be when you’re not accustomed to being on the receiving end,’ I tried. ‘Perhaps we could meet on neutral ground. Say in the lounge of the Midland?’

      The reassuring tone hadn’t worked. ‘No,’ Kerr said urgently. ‘Not in public. It’s got to look completely normal. Have you got a boyfriend, Ms Brannigan?’

      I should have put the phone down then and there, I realized four hours later as I tried to explain to Richard that a crumpled cream linen suit might be fine for going on the razz with Mick Hucknall, but there was no way it would help him to pass as a member of the Round Table. ‘Bloody hell, Brannigan,’ he grumbled. ‘I’m old enough to dress myself.’

      I ignored him and raked through his wardrobe, coming up with a fairly sober double-breasted Italian suit in dark navy. ‘This is more like it,’ I said.

      Richard scowled. ‘I only wear that to funerals.’

      I threw it on the bed. ‘Not true. You wore it to your cousin’s wedding.’

      ‘You forgotten her husband already? Anyway, I don’t see why you’re making me get dressed up like a tailor’s dummy. After the last time I helped you out, you swore you’d never let me near your work again,’ he whinged as he shrugged out of the linen jacket.

      ‘Believe me, if Bill wasn’t out of the country, I wouldn’t be asking you,’ I said grimly. ‘Besides, not even you can turn a Round Table treasure hunt and potluck supper into a life-threatening situation.’

      Richard froze. ‘That’s a bit below the belt, Brannigan,’ he said bitterly.

      ‘Yeah, well, I’m going next door to find something suitably naff in my own wardrobe. Come through when you’re ready.’

      I walked down Richard’s hall and cut through his living room to the conservatory. Back in my own house, I allowed myself a few moments of deep breathing to regain my equilibrium. A few months before, I had enlisted Richard’s help in what should have been a straightforward case of car fraud. Only, as they say in all the worst police dramas, it all went pear-shaped. Spectacularly so. Richard ended up behind bars, his life in jeopardy, and I nearly got myself killed tracking down the real villains. As if that hadn’t been enough, I’d also been landed with looking after his eight-year-old son Davy. And me with the maternal instincts of a Liquorice Allsort.

      The physical scars had healed pretty quickly, but the real damage was to our relationship. You’d think he’d have been grateful that I sorted everything out. Instead, he’d been distant, sarcastic and out a lot. It hadn’t been grim all the time, of course. If it had been, I’d have knocked it on the head weeks earlier. We still managed to have fun together, and sometimes for nearly a week things would be just like they used to be; lots of laughs, a few nights out, communal Chinese takeaways and spectacular sex. Then the clouds would descend, usually when I was up to the eyeballs in some demanding job.

      This was the first time since our run-in with the drug warlords that I’d asked Richard to do anything connected with work. I’d argued with Trevor Kerr that there must be a less complicated way for us to meet, but Clever Trevor was convinced that he was right to take precautions. I nearly asked him why he was hiring a dog and still barking himself, but I bit my tongue. Business hadn’t been so great lately that I could afford to antagonize new clients before they were actually signed up.

      With a sigh, I walked into my own bedroom and considered the options. Richard says I don’t have a wardrobe, just a collection of disguises. Looking at the array of clothes in front of me, I was tempted to agree with him. I pulled out a simple tailored

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