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We got to know her quite well back then, but lost touch rather when she moved down south, as you do. Why?’
    â€˜Well, Eddison seems to think it may be helpful. That you knew her.’
    â€˜Very much past tense,’ Alec told him. ‘We liked her. She was funny and clever and very good at what she did. Committed, too. Even back then you’d have made a bet on her making it, whatever field she decided to go into.’
    â€˜Bet no one took odds on her burning up in a smashed-up car.’
    â€˜Burning?’ Alec went cold. ‘The news reports said nothing about a fire.’
    â€˜No, they didn’t. The news reported it as an accident. Sad, but these things happen. The evidence says it was murder.’
    â€˜Murder?’
    Travers nodded. ‘So now we’ve got two bodies. It seems that your funny, clever reporter friend burned to death in her car. The keys had been taken, the child locks activated. She was locked in and left to die.’

THREE
    I t was funny, Gregory thought, the way some people were able to compartmentalize their lives. He doubted anyone in Jamie’s circle knew about her friendship with Neil Robinson or many in his that he had a connection with her.
    â€˜We started chatting in a pub one night,’ she’d said. ‘I was supposed to meet a friend, and she was late and then she texted to say she’d been held up at work and probably wouldn’t make it. Neil was there too, looking equally fed up, and we got talking.’
    She had not, Gregory remembered, been in London all that long at the time and was probably just glad of the company. Neil could be engaging company. Smooth and charming and seemingly open: just the personality traits that made him such a good conman.
    Not, so far as Gregory knew – and he knew a great deal – that Neil had ever tried anything with Jamie.
    The two had become casual friends. The odd coffee, a film, an evening in the pub. It had been easy and appealing to a woman like Jamie, whose life otherwise was so intense.
    Gregory, not an expert in personal relationships, had always been interested when people spoke about theirs, and Jamie had been very easy to listen to. Like Neil she, too, was charming, smooth and open – though in Jamie’s case she really was – and it made her pleasant company.
    And Christopher had been right, Gregory thought. He had allowed himself to grow fond, to believe that the girl could be deflected from the dangerous path she had been taking . And so she had been, for a while.
    He turned the little silver device in his hands. A digital recorder, quite high end and very pretty and compact. Then he looked at the number scribbled on the pad on his desk. Not that he needed to look; numbers he needed to know were committed quickly and retained, Christopher always joked, for elephant’s years.
    Reaching for the phone, and with his finger poised to play, he dialled the number.
    Harry called around midnight. He apologized for the lateness, but said Patrick had told him it would be a good idea. Naomi smiled, amused at the parental buck-passing. The Harry–Patrick dynamic had certainly shifted in the past year. Harry would have missed him terribly if his son had decided to pick a distant university, but Patrick, despite offers of finance from his mother and stepfather, had elected to go to a local art college, which meant he could still live at home.
    â€˜Patrick was right,’ Naomi said.
    â€˜No word from Alec?’
    â€˜Nothing yet. They should have arrived by now, but he probably won’t get much time to call until later. You know how it is.’
    â€˜And you’re all right?’
    â€˜I’m fine,’ she lied.
    â€˜Because I can come over, you know I would.’
    â€˜Bless you, Harry. But I’m going to bed now, and I’ll be OK. I’ve locked up everywhere.’
    â€˜If you’re sure? Right then, we’ll pick you up at half five